


Fill

by deepdarkdrifting



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anal Fisting, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, BDSM, Belly Kink, Belly worship, Bottom Jack, Caretaking, Catharsis, Comfort, Consensual Somnophilia, Consent Play, Consentacles, Deepthroating, Dom/sub Play, Eggpreg, Eggs, Emetophilia, Enemas, Enthusiastic Consent, Force-Feeding, Forced Orgasm, Gags, Inflation, Large Insertion, M/M, Multi, Omorashi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Oviposition, Pain, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise, Punishment, Really deep, Rimming, Sounding, Spanking, Stuffing, Subspace, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Monsters Are People Too, Tentacle Sex, Top Doctor (Doctor Who), Top Drop, breath play, long insertion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 87,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25620619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepdarkdrifting/pseuds/deepdarkdrifting
Summary: Given the size of the universe, it is not remotely far fetched that there should be a place catering specifically to the tentacle sex, alien eggs and inflation crowd in a safe, sane, consensual, and very well thought out sort of way. And given the existence of such a place, Jack Harkness would be there.Written to be enjoyed in chapter-sized bites. There's no plot, after all.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Tentacle Creature, The Doctor/Jack Harkness, The Doctor/Jack Harkness/Tentacle Creature
Comments: 141
Kudos: 178





	1. Drink

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pale Tendrils](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21413530) by Anonymous. 



> "I like tentacle porn, but it's just never realistic enough." - nobody ever, probably
> 
> This goes some really weird places (and so do the tentacles) but it is all completely consensual and loving. There is some consent play, but also frequent check-ins and safewords. No scat, no blood, no violence aside from spanking. All other bodily fluids, human and alien, are fair game. Dom/sub play is throughout, as is pain and pushing physical limits. If you don't like pain in your sex, this isn't the story for you. No drugs or magic here to make things easier. Anatomically correct, to the best of my knowledge - at least the human anatomy, and making some allowances for Jack's rapid healing. Still, don't try this at home unless you are a highly trained tentacle monster. I'll update tags as I go and warn for each chapter.
> 
> Please feel free to picture whichever Doctor strikes your fancy - the story never specifies. He's most like Eleven, speech- and mannerisms-wise, but in my head he's a future Doctor.
> 
> Surprisingly soft, given the premise and genre. Lots of belly worship, really kinky sex, and tentacles, in a medical-adjacent setting. The word count is ridiculous, there is no plot whatsoever, and none of the chapters are filler.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and the Doctor get ready for Jack's appointment with a clutch of alien eggs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: belly inflation, fisting, all the sex. And that's just the first chapter.

“Are you sure about this?”

The Doctor is staring doubtfully at the litre bottles lined up on the counter in front of Jack. Filled with a cloudy liquid a bit thicker than water, there are four of them waiting. They taste good; Jack already tried them. Miracles of modern kink in a wide universe. He has to drink two of them. Then nothing else, until they clear him out completely. Then the other two. Then they’ll go.

“Absolutely sure. What’s the worst that could happen?” The face the Doctor pulls at him is epic. Jack laughs as he opens the first bottle and starts to drink.

“You could get pumped full of alien goo and eggs until you burst.”

“Mm-hm,” Jack says, finishing the bottle. He got most of it down in one go. “That’s the point, though. Well, hopefully not the bursting part.”

“You could rupture something and be in horrible pain until you die!” It’s a pretty half-hearted argument, though, because they’ve already had it three or four times.

Jack opens the second bottle. “I’ll be fine. They’re very good at it. I didn’t sign up for letting the eggs hatch, you know.” He might have, just to get the full experience, if it wouldn’t have given the Doctor conniptions. Maybe someday.

The second bottle is much more difficult. Jack gets about a third of it down before his stomach informs him in no uncertain terms that it is _full_. He takes a breath, straightens up, and informs it back that it is _not_ full, and will not be full until he says so. It needs the practice. He takes a slow, smooth swallow, and another, and another, the pressure in his stomach ratcheting upwards as he does until he is shaking. If he moves, it may all come back out. Eyes closed, Jack tilts his head back and breathes, waiting for the nausea to subside. He sways, and then the Doctor is there at his back, arms slipping around his aching belly to undo his belt, unbutton his trousers.

“Relax, Captain,” he murmurs, hands smoothing up over Jack’s belly without exerting any pressure. “Relax, and let it in.”

The ache subsides as Jack slowly relaxes, the feeling of imminent vomiting dying down as his stomach stretches, as the liquid starts entering his intestines. He needs to finish the bottle. Jack opens his eyes, and nearly sobs when he sees there is still a quarter of it left. He raises it to his lips, and tries to swallow, but his throat doesn’t obey.

 _Just one more_ , he assures it, taking a breath, letting it out. The Doctor holds him steady, hands petting slowly down his bulging abdomen. _Just one more_. His throat obeys him, this time. A person doesn't get to be this old without learning to believe their own lies. 

Jack waits for the liquid to settle into his stomach, then takes another mouthful.

This one is harder. “You can do it, Captain,” the Doctor coaxes. A hand slides up to his throat, strokes gently, gently. “Swallow.” Jack does, and can feel it all the way down his rebelling esophagus, a lump of pain moving to join the stretched-to-bursting centre of him. He takes another mouthful. “Not much more,” the Doctor murmurs encouragingly. “Here, come down to your knees.” One less thing to think about; Jack lets his knees buckle and the Doctor lowers him to the ground, arms still around him, his legs bracketing Jack’s and holding him upright. Taking advantage of his body’s distraction, Jack swallows.

It very nearly all comes back up. Moaning sickly, Jack breathes through it, deep gasping breaths, painful as his lungs expand into space already occupied. The Doctor’s arms tighten about his chest, pull him up and back. “Don’t slump, Captain, that will just make it worse.” There is a very hard cock pressed against his arse; Jack finds he can spare the attention to grin. It’s not just him he’s doing this for, after all. Without looking at how much is left, Jack raises the bottle to his lips and drinks down the rest of it. It’s a struggle to keep it all moving in the right direction, but once it is safely in his stomach, it seems like it will stay there. Probably. Turning his nose into the Doctor’s neck, Jack relaxes and thinks of nothing but fullness, and how he will soon have every kind of fullness all at once; but that just reminds him of things that are empty.

The Doctor’s hands are moving gently over Jack’s distended belly again. “This is quite something,” he says appreciatively, spreading his hands against the curve of it.

“Gets better,” Jack mumbles, and tries to grind back against the Doctor’s cock, but it doesn’t work very well. He slides his hands up the back of his lover’s thighs and grabs his arse.

“Captain!” The Doctor does _scandalised_ very well, but Jack isn’t fooled. He massages roughly and the Doctor moans, fingers tensing against Jack’s belly which makes Jack twitch and moan. “Oh, I’m sorry -”

“No,” Jack interrupts. “Good. Do that.” Tentatively, the Doctor presses down, and Jack feels it all the way through him, pressing, squeezing. He fancies he can feel his intestines slowly bloating, full of the stuff as his stomach tries to relieve its own suffering. Soon there will be no such relief. “Uugh,” Jack groans as the Doctor slides a palm firmly from ribs all the way down to Jack’s cock, rubs it firmly where it strains leaking and impatient against his trousers. “Yesss.” He keeps it up until Jack is lying limp, all his weight supported by the Doctor behind him, his hips twitching rhythmically. The hand comes slowly back up Jack’s right side, and then there is a second hand pressing hard on the left instead, shifting everything inside Jack’s belly in a sloshing liquid sweep of movement. He spasms and cries out, and the Doctor kisses his jaw and presses on the right side. Jack bucks and comes hard.

“It’s going to be quite exhausting for you, I suppose,” the Doctor says fondly. Pulling over a nearby chair, he tips Jack forward and over it, pulls his shirt up to see his belly dangling there. The change in position is intense, everything shifting yet again. Jack whimpers as the Doctor’s hands roam all over, examining the weight and shape of his misery, massaging, pressing against his rapidly filling bladder. Then the Doctor is unzipping his trousers, pulling them down to his knees which he spreads as far as they’ll go. “Just hang on to that chair, Captain, I doubt your arms will hold you right now.”

It’s less hanging on than it is laying on - Jack’s chest is on the chair, head and arms dangling awkwardly - but he moans agreeably and concentrates on keeping his knees and hips in a useful configuration as a cool finger slides down the cleft of his arse, finds Jack relaxed and ready for him. The Doctor makes a pleased noise and shuffles around a bit, then Jack feels the head of his cock bump up against him, smooth and slick and ready to give him another measure of fullness. A hand on his hip and then his arse is being filled, a thick, slow intrusion so unlike what he swallowed, so satisfying for his lack of control over it. Jack groans as the Doctor bottoms out inside him. His cock is full and leaking again, hanging untouched below him along with the aching belly.

It’s the belly the Doctor reaches for to stroke, of course. “I suppose I oughtn’t take too long here,” the Doctor muses, fingertips pressing lightly. “It must be draining from your stomach by now. Does it feel better for being further in? Worse? Tell me, Captain.”

“It’s… I don’t know, different,” Jack says, trying to dredge up enough coherence to answer the Doctor’s demand. “I feel just as full, just as stretched, but I don’t feel like I might throw up. There’s no way out, now, just waiting. Physically, better, I think. Mentally, it’s… more.”

“So, if I -” The Doctor pushes up _hard_ on Jack’s belly and everything goes white for a moment as his entire body flails involuntarily. “That,” the Doctor moans, “was the most fascinating noise I have _ever_ heard from you -”

Gasping, Jack tries to get his body back under control but the Doctor is pulling out and he doesn’t want that, he tenses to try to keep him from going but then he’s pushing back in, crashing into Jack’s arse and sending his insides sloshing about again and Jack yowls as sensation floods him to overflowing. He does it again, and again, making sure plenty of movement transfers to Jack’s belly, and soon Jack can’t do more than gasp, and groan or cry or shriek on the exhale, and hold on to the chair like a drowning man. He can’t imagine how it could be more but he knows there will be more, this is just the beginning -

Cock swollen thick, the Doctor holds Jack’s hips in a bruising grip and thrusts deep, Jack can feel it all the way up to his throat he is so stuffed inside, once and twice and then he’s crying Jack’s name as he comes. Jack is still dazed when he feels hands slip down his sides, one to his cock, one to his belly, one pumping, one pressing, and he comes again with a shuddering full-body spasm, only half-aware of the world around him.

Hands turned gentle again, the Doctor pulls out slowly and kisses Jack’s trembling back. “Let’s get you cleaned up, Captain, and situated somewhere better for… the aftereffects.” Jack hums agreeably and gives moving his best try. His arm flops off the chair to the floor. The Doctor laughs. “That’s what I’m here for, right? Support.”

“And fucking,” Jack mumbles. “Don’t forget the fucking.”

“Not likely to forget that part,” the Doctor assures him, still laughing.

\---

Entirely empty inside now, Jack is ready to do it again. The next two litres are a little thicker, a little closer to what he will soon be filled with. A little lubricating, a little nourishing. He is naked this time, for easier access and so the Doctor can enjoy the sight of his expanding midsection fully.

“You’re already hard,” the Doctor points out, amused, from his chair. “Just from looking at bottles of alien slime.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “You can really ruin a mood, you know?”

“Can’t imagine how many new things are going to set you off, after all this. You’ll get distracted cooking breakfast.”

Jack’s cock twitches at the thought of the eggs he’s going to be full of very soon and the Doctor laughs. Pretending wounded dignity, Jack starts drinking the first bottle instead of answering. It goes down delightfully smooth, silky like a perfectly thickened broth and just faintly sweet; he takes it slow and the entire bottle disappears without discomfort. The Doctor is watching him with the mildly confused lust he applies to his occasional kinks; he loves to see Jack stuffed full, of anything, from any direction, but he doesn’t understand _why_ and he wants to. Jack can’t help with the why, but he can take a lot of stuffing.

Standing so the Doctor can see him in profile, Jack starts on the second litre. It’s easier this time, slipping down his throat like it belongs there, pooling in his stomach, pushing his abdominal wall out and out to relieve the pressure and make room. Still, a little more than halfway through the bottle he has to stop, throat working to try to keep everything in. Breathing carefully, Jack runs a hand over his belly, trying to coax the pain away, push the fullness down to make room for more.

“Come here,” the Doctor says softly. “Let me.”

Walking is slightly difficult but Jack slowly makes his way to stand between the Doctor’s knees, still sideways to him, engorged belly at eye level. The Doctor leans in to kiss it, pets the roundness of it from the taut and painful top just below his ribs to the still-empty lower curve; strokes it lovingly, and presses his face cool against skin drawn tight, and runs his other hand up the back of Jack’s thighs and over his arse and makes circles in the small of his back with strong fingertips which is unexpectedly brilliant. Relaxation follows his touch with a welcome immediacy. Jack takes a deep breath and sets the bottle back to his lips.

He drinks in slow sips, drawing it down like nectar, like ambrosia, savouring the feelings it pushes into him more than the taste. _You feel full_ , he assures his body, _but the more full you are, the better you’ll feel_. He swallows, and swallows, and swallows, slower and slower but never stopping. The Doctor’s hand never stops on his belly, and the pressure never stops inside him. It grows and grows into an aching pain, and still he keeps swallowing; it feels different for being made of thicker stuff, less volatile.

Finally he tries to swallow and finds there is nothing in his mouth. He could have gone on forever, he thinks; slow enough, and he would reach some sort of equilibrium. That’s what he wants. Completely full.

Jack lowers the bottle and the hand stroking his belly pauses. “That’s very well done, Captain,” the Doctor says. Eyes closed, suffused with the warmth of success and approval, Jack smiles. “Very well done. That was much faster than last time. Your stomach must be stretched like a balloon.” The hand moves back to the top of Jack’s belly and presses down cautiously, firm but very, very slow. Jack moans, feeling the threat of it all coming back up. “How beautiful you are. Look at yourself, Jack.”

Opening his eyes, Jack looks first down, where the Doctor looks up at him from beside his very rounded belly, eyes dark with arousal, hand moving in light caresses that somehow manage not to be ticklish; then he turns his head to look at the mirror across from him. All he can see of the Doctor there is his knees and lower legs and the hand on Jack’s arse; the rest of him is hid behind Jack’s expanded belly. It’s not ridiculous, he doesn’t look about to give birth or anything like, but it is very much… full. Jack traces the arc of it with his own hand, watching in the mirror. Full is good. Full feels good.

He can feel the fullness slowly creeping lower and he wants that feeling again, that feeling of being invaded, being inescapably stuffed. “Thank you,” he says, looking back at the Doctor. “For doing this with me.”

“Well, you seemed quite certain,” the Doctor says, looking away as he blushes. “Couldn’t very well leave you to do it on your own. It’s - ah -” He swallows, and looks back at Jack. “It’s my pleasure, really.” Which is half the point, of course. Jack smiles, and runs his hand over his lover’s head lying so conveniently there against his belly; and then winds fingers through his hair, pulls his head back slightly, and turns toward him.

“What -” the Doctor tries to say, startled, but he finds Jack’s cock between his lips as soon as he opens them. Jack holds his head still and pushes forward, sliding in even as words are still trying to come out; the Doctor’s tongue works madly and he swallows around Jack and his hands, his glorious hands, push on Jack’s belly right at the top again, push down, push the fullness further in. Swaying forward helplessly, the Doctor’s head held tight to him, Jack also pushes further in and as he fucks as deep as he can into that welcoming throat he sobs in confused ecstacy as the Doctor’s forehead pushes firmly up into his belly, waves of pressure that become razor-edged pleasure when they meet the hands pushing down. He loses himself deep in the Doctor’s throat in less than a minute.

Pushing him away, the Doctor swallows and takes a breath and coughs. “A little warning would be appreciated,” he complains, voice rough; but the flush on his cheeks has spread and his eyes are bright when he leans back to look up at Jack appraisingly. “Hands and knees, Captain,” he orders, which Jack would be very happy to comply with if it didn’t seem so logistically difficult; he feels about to fall over. The Doctor doesn’t help him down this time. Holding on to the arm of the chair Jack lowers himself gingerly to his knees, but the impact is still enough to make him moan as his insides move. He considers his next move; the Doctor is watching him intently but doesn’t look as though he will help with this one either. Taking a breath, Jack lets himself fall forward to his hands.

His arms take most of the impact but the change in orientation leaves his belly swinging queasily, hanging low and round below him as his overfull stomach and increasingly bloated intestines slosh around in a space not accustomed to holding so much. Jack moans and reflexively tries to curl up, moans in pain again and holds himself swaying on hands and knees. He wishes vaguely that the swaying would stop. After a few more breaths, his head clears enough to realise that the reason the swaying won’t stop is that the Doctor’s leg is against his belly, slowly shifting it side to side. With a little sob, Jack begs, “Doctor -”

“I wonder how they’ll keep you,” the Doctor muses, watching Jack pant in discomfort. “Surely belly down? But you can barely hold yourself up now, and they’re going to keep you stuffed full for _days_.” Despite everything, Jack can feel the blood rushing to his cock again at the thought. “Maybe you’ll have to try out different positions, see what works best. Lie down, Captain.”

“Are you crazy?” Jack demands; but he leans to the side to attempt to manoeuvre onto his side. Perhaps it will be better than the torment of the Doctor swinging his belly around.

“Not like that,” the Doctor says, and it’s all the warning Jack gets before his leg sweeps Jack’s knees back, knocking him to the floor straight on his belly. The breathless, shocked scream that rips its way out of Jack’s throat is cut short as his throat rebels, as his stomach tries to empty itself and Jack fights it down. Scrabbling mindlessly at the floor Jack tries to push himself up but the Doctor’s other foot is between his shoulderblades, holding him down. He is caught in some no-man’s-land between pain and relief and horror and pleasure, the pressure inside immense and overwhelming and inescapable, everything he wants -

It’s not everything he wants. He wants to drink even more, but there’s no more left. He wants to be filled even more. “Fuck me,” Jack gasps, begs. “Please, now.”

“What - really?” the Doctor asks, startled; he pulls his foot away from Jack’s shoulders and slides hesitantly to his knees beside where Jack still claws aimlessly at the floor.

“Please, _please_.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” But he is pushing Jack’s legs apart, moving between them, pushing his knees forward to raise his arse, open and exposed and empty. It shifts Jack’s weight to the upper curve of his belly, pressing everything down and in.

“I can feel it,” Jack moans, writhing as the Doctor slips two fingers, three, into him, “crawling through my guts, so thick,” a fourth finger, and Jack wants more, _more_ , “filling me up, please, Doctor, fill me up more -” Another dribble of lube and then the Doctor’s hand pushes in again, slow but absolutely inexorable and Jack takes it and takes it and takes it, whining and crying and begging for more, overstimulated tears dampening the floor where his face rests. The burning stretch gets worse and worse, better and better, as the Doctor’s hand slides in millimetre by millimetre; Jack always forgets how big it is but he never forgets how much he wants it. “More,” he begs, nearly incoherent, he’ll take anything as long as it’s not _stopping_ , “more, more -”

The stuff inside him is thicker than it was when he swallowed it, he is certain it’s formed into some kind of gelatinous rope pushing slowly through his intestines, forcing a space where none was and holding it open, moving the fullness from his stomach to somewhere his mind isn’t even equipped to understand. It all aches horribly, and feels amazing, and he wants more, and his cock is slipping in the growing puddle beneath him with every agonising movement he makes - and the Doctor’s hand is still stretching him more, and more, and more.

Finally the widest part is through, the hand sliding in deeper, quicker - Jack yells, a guttural, incoherent thing as his insides shift thrillingly again and he tenses around the Doctor’s wrist, so very, very full.

"Oh, Captain," the Doctor moans quietly, left hand rubbing the side of Jack's belly in slow strokes, feeling the firmness of it. Jack makes the noise again when he pushes, just lightly, right up inside, right where all the pressure is terrifyingly intense; but when he pulls back Jack claws at the floor again and begs, "No, no, more."

"There's no more, Jack, there's no more I can give you, I'm so sorry," his lover replies. He sounds wrecked; Jack wishes he could see him, and then remembers the mirror. With considerable effort he turns his head and moans at the sight of himself splayed out, belly round and protruding and pressed against the floor, the Doctor's arm thrust deep inside. His left hand has moved up to Jack's arse as well, massaging the skin stretched to its limit, kneading roughly. As Jack's eyes meet his in the mirror he pushes in again and Jack's eyes roll up in his head as the movement travels through him in a wave like an inverted shudder, smoothing out all the shaking. “Is that good?” the Doctor whispers.

Jack moans, limp and still, and the Doctor moves again, out just a little and back in; he does it again, and again, until it is a rhythmic wash of waves carrying Jack away, rolling him in the tide of pleasure and pain as the stuff creeps through his intestines. He feels no less full, his belly no less distended, but the character of the fullness changes minute by minute as his stomach empties and everything is fully, irretrievably _inside_ him, and not coming out except by continuing on its long, slow journey through.

Helpless. He is helpless, now.

Tears of relief seep from Jack’s closed eyes as every care, every thought, falls away. Fullness and sensation and the relentless movement of something that is beyond his control, those are all he has left.

Something wet hits his arse, slides down the back of his leg; Jack opens one eye just enough to make out the Doctor fisting his own cock, mouth open in silent ecstacy as he comes over Jack’s backside. Jack smiles and closes his eye. The rhythm pinning him down does not falter. Eventually Jack comes too, which wouldn’t much bother him except that the brief tensing of muscles sends a wave of cramping discomfort cascading through him unexpectedly and the Doctor begins to pull out, startled by his pained cry.

“Don’t,” Jack begs, but he has no voice.

“I need to get you somewhere more comfortable,” the Doctor insists gently. Millimetre by millimetre he pulls his hand out, stretching Jack’s sphincters again. He fights it this time, but it gets him nowhere against the Doctor’s determined strength and that too is a feeling Jack can never get enough of; he doesn’t know what he wants anymore. Soon the widest part has passed and the Doctor’s hand slides out, leaving him terribly empty. Jack doesn’t want to get up. He lies there miserably for a moment, rejecting thought, until he feels a cool breath on, _in_ , his open, gaping hole, and then the Doctor’s tongue is teasing at his rim, slipping inside. Jack wails, thin and high and wordless, as the Doctor laps at his sensitive inner walls, tongue a gentle rasp as it probes deeper, around and around, then retreats to catch at his stretched rim. Very, very gently the Doctor touches teeth to him, not biting but holding skin that has never felt such a thing between tongue and sharp edge. The tongue dips back inside, tasting nerves Jack didn’t even know he had; it stretches toward his prostate, not quite reaching it but the feel of the Doctor’s face tight against him, nose pressing hard in the crease of his arse, is wonderful. He wants it never to end, but it does, of course. 

The Doctor climbs to his feet, then crouches down in front of Jack and carefully pulls him upright. The weight in his belly is less sloshing now but it still shifts and slides around in a way that reminds Jack very clearly of a pile of excavated worms. Hopefully next time he will be so full there will be no room for movement at all - inside or outside, none of this being ambulatory thing, he wants to lie still and be stuffed so full he can’t think. “Come along, Captain,” the Doctor says, arm around Jack’s chest to hold him up. “Let’s see if lying on your side won’t work better, for a little while.”


	2. Intake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack meets a very business-like tentacle monster and gets stuffed very, very full.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: inflation, force feeding, pain, and lots of tentacles in lots of places. Both large and very deep insertion. Definitely a touch of public display, with the added frisson of a medical setting and a bit of consensual necrophilia. And I don't mean that in the way you'd expect, with Jack involved. Also dialogue in which the author pokes fun at themself.

"Are you sure you'll be alright watching other people getting all up in me?" Jack thinks to ask just as they are signing in to their destination. He has slept, in case it turns out to be difficult to, the next few days; he has expelled the gelatinous mass that worked its way through his intestines with horrified fascination. By the end it had solidified enough that he could _pull_ on it, which felt awful and amazing and left him shaking on the floor after a massive orgasm.

"Considering how much their ability to stuff you surpasses my own, I think it will be worth it," the Doctor assures him. Jack is wearing only a stretchy tee and pajama bottoms today, on the theory that he won't be needing them anyway soon; the Doctor is plastered against his back, hands up his shirt already, roaming over the flatness of his belly as if to better appreciate everything to come. He is also, Jack suspects based on a few people's reactions to them, glaring with pointed possessiveness at anyone who comes too close.

"Hey," Jack says, tilting his head back to find his lover's lips for an awkwardly angled kiss. "Let them look. You're the one with your hands up my shirt."

“Well. True. Very true.” He relaxes a bit, and shortly thereafter someone interestingly round and squishy comes to fetch them.

“Mister Jack Harkness?” says the - Intake Nurse, apparently, according to a badge worn like a hat right on top of the rounded, purplish brown body, inside a fluttering circular crest. Jack is put in mind of nothing so much as a very large octopus, about four feet high and sat on what looks very much like a neatly coiled pile of tentacular arms, all on top of a round hoverplate. The voice comes from the hat as well, he thinks; certainly there is no visible mouth.

“That’s me,” Jack says. “Call me Jack.”

“Jack. You may call me Nurse Husa. Will this person be accompanying you?”

Jack grins as the Doctor grumbles _try to stop me_ against his shoulder. “Yes, he will. This is the Doctor.”

Waving a very promising looking tentacle invitingly, Nurse Husa says, “Jack and the Doctor, please follow me,” and moves toward a door. The Doctor untangles himself from Jack’s shirt but leaves an arm about his waist as they follow.

The intake room is bright and cheerful, painted a relaxing greenish blue and equipped with a comfortable chair and couch, a low, wide table in the middle, and a counter with sections of various heights against one wall. Jack sits on the couch, and the Doctor sits nearly in his lap, and Nurse Husa goes through the paperwork with a friendly, lulling efficiency. Once Jack’s details are verified, options discussed, risks explained, and waivers signed, Nurse Husa says delicately, “There will be a physical examination, as well.”

“Oh, good,” Jack says, suddenly no longer bored.

“I will need access to the orifice by which you want the eggs implanted. Please arrange yourself comfortably on the table.”

Jack hops to his feet, then turns to the Doctor, hoping for his involvement as well. A faint flush has risen to his cheeks and he is eying Jack hungrily. “Do you want -”

“Please,” Jack says; the Doctor smiles.

“Strip, Captain. Hands and knees.”

Nurse Husa shuffles back through their files. The roiling flurry of paper and tentacles is mesmerising, although Jack finds himself still uncertain where the nurse’s visual receptors are. “Whom would you like me to address -”

“Him,” Jack says immediately, pulling his shirt off; then again just to make sure it isn’t unclear, “Him. The Doctor. I filled out the proxy form.”

“Ah. So you did. My apologies.”

The table is hard but not uncomfortable beneath Jack’s knees, with a sort of firm give to it; smooth but not slippery beneath his hands. There are no restraints of any kind available, unless the Doctor wants to hold him down. This entire operation is impeccably consent based. The sight of three more tentacles uncoiling and slinking toward him sends a jolt of arousal through him and Jack can feel his cock filling, hanging heavier between his legs. The Doctor’s hand strokes his back, over his arse, down the back of his thigh to hook around his knee and pull his stance wider, more exposed. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. Jack might as well be a horse being shown, or maybe a piece of art on display. He watches the tentacles sway as Nurse Husa begins his exam.

“I will begin by dilating his orifice to its maximum diametre to determine what size eggs may be implanted. There may be discomfort with this step. Your Jack has opted for no anesthetics or relaxation aids of any sort.” The tip of a tentacle probes delicately at the sensitive skin of Jack’s hole and he shivers as it slides in, no thicker than his little finger to start but mobile in a way he has fantasised about for a very long time. It pulses slightly, and ripples, and then pushes in a little bigger, the drag of it against his skin making Jack moan. “Please do not be embarrassed by any physical reaction you may have during this exam,” Nurse Husa says. Jack isn’t sure whether he or the Doctor is being addressed, now. Maybe both. “Doctor, your Jack will signal to you if he needs to stop?”

“He will.” The tentacle pulses, and pushes back in a little thicker. “You aren’t going to hurt him,” the Doctor assures the nurse, voice full of a dark amusement that does funny things to Jack’s insides even empty as they are. Jack looks away from the tentacles for a moment to see his lover, but the Doctor isn’t looking at him; Jack is, for the moment, a curiosity to be discussed. He moans softly again, content. Holding his hand up to demonstrate, the Doctor says, “I had my fist in him just yesterday.”

“Thank you,” Nurse Husa says, “that will make this much -” and then the tentacle ripples and _expands_ and Jack can’t pay attention to anything else but the solid, growing mass lodged inside him, pushing him open with an insistent force he can’t quite help trying to escape from. It moves with him, of course, and then the Doctor is pushing him back into position and Jack hangs his head and gasps for breath, tries to keep himself from tensing around the tentacle that must be the size of the Doctor’s wrist now, and still slowly, continuously, growing. Tearing him apart. The Doctor moves his knee again to open him up wider and Jack is whining through bared teeth, wishing that hand were on his cock but instead the Doctor just says, “Relax, Captain, just relax,” and he tries, he _tries_. But he is beginning to realise he has no idea when it will stop - with the Doctor’s hand he knows he can take it, knows it will peak and get easier, but this - he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know if it is up to him to stop it, and it’s too late to ask and the whining is turning into terrified sobs because he can feel the muscle stretched to breaking and it’s _not stopping_.

Just past the point he starts seriously considering the mental red flag that will bring everything to a halt, it finally stops.

It stops, but it doesn’t get smaller.

Impaled, trembling, Jack sobs in both pain and relief of fear. Cool fingers touch his face tenderly, dry his tears, card through his hair with slow care. “You did so well, Captain, I’m so proud of you. You were afraid but still you trusted me, you let me take you so far and you took it so beautifully.” His hand slides down Jack’s back to probe with gentle fingertips at the distorted contours of his backside. The intrusion is not deep, only very, very wide. “Shh, shh. Rest for a moment, Captain.”

Jack lowers himself to his elbows, lays his forehead against the cool table, and rests.

“How did he manage the preparatory fluids?” Nurse Husa asks.

“Enthusiastically,” the Doctor replies with dry humour. He is still petting Jack absently. “He had difficulty with the first set, but drank it all within fifteen minutes. The second set took less than ten minutes, with less discomfort. We both enjoyed the process quite a lot.”

“Very good. Is he ready for the next stage? I will reduce the diametre to conduct an interior examination. There may be discomfort with this as well, as I will be proceeding as far along his large intestine as possible.”

Fingers twine through Jack’s hair, turn his head to the side so he can see the Doctor. “Captain?” He moans encouragingly. “No, I’d like words this time, please. Are you feeling relaxed and stretched?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jack mumbles, then bites his lip and moans again as the tentacle lodged in his arse pulses and begins to deflate.

“Are you ready for more?”

“Yessss,” Jack says, trailing off into a shocked hiss as the tip of the tentacle presses further into him as it continues deflating slowly, which has the effect of making it feel as though some enormous snake has breached him and is crawling up, width tapering down to a tail, soon to disappear entirely inside. Jack spasms involuntarily at the thought, then tenses as the tip of the tentacle pushes against his inner sphincter.

“Relax, please,” Nurse Husa instructs dispassionately. “Bear down, try to push me out.”

Jack does, and a nonsensical feeling of betrayal washes through him as the tentacle pushes through the loosened sphincter with ease. It doesn’t save him the cramping pain, though, or the way his body tries frantically to reject an object traveling the wrong way through a peristalsis-governed one-way tube - or the way his cock pulses and spills on the table without a single touch as he is fully invaded. “Sorry,” he gasps, eyes screwed shut, not sure which reaction he is apologising for as he tries to remember to breathe, “can’t help it -”

“Quite alright,” Nurse Husa says, and continues pushing in. Jack tries to muffle the scream. “The muscles are, of course, attempting to push me out,” the nurse explains, presumably to the Doctor as it’s certainly not to Jack. “Entirely involuntary. The nutrient solution we will fill him with will reduce gut motility and lessen the cramping sensations he is experiencing. He will not remain in this discomfort after the initial exam.”

“Good,” the Doctor says, sounding marginally less enthusiastic, even with the evidence that Jack is enjoying at least some part of this. “I know he doesn’t want anaesthetic, but I don’t like to see him in real pain.”

“Fine,” Jack insists, holding still by sheer cussed willpower as the tentacle pulses in his arse, sliding further and further into him. “I’m fine.” It flutters against both the sphincter he can hardly imagine tightening and the one he can’t help tightening to vastly different effect, one ticklish and absurdly pleasant and thin enough now he wants to press himself down on it until it gets thick again - and the other a painful, unignorable invasion of his innermost being, the rippling slide of it thick enough to make him want to buck free and fling himself off the table and away from it. He would rather be tied down for this than have to hold himself in place. There is a strange kind of humiliation in the participation.

The Doctor has a hand on his back - holding him down, Jack realises dimly, just as he was wishing - and the other pressing on his belly trying to feel the movement of the tentacle inside him. Jack moans sickly as it reaches another turn, probes around inside him for the way forward. “Oh,” the Doctor murmurs, quietly delighted at the movement under his hand. “This is amazing, Jack, simply wonderful. Is it feeling any better?”

Held so, the object of the Doctor’s delight, it does seem slightly better all of a sudden. Jack moans, doing his best to relax and enjoy the experience of a tentacle questing slowly through him, scouting him out for suitability as an egg repository. He hopes he is suitable.

Finally, after another turn of his colon and an unknown length of tentacle and a creeping wrongness that has reduced Jack to a shuddering, groaning wreck, cock weeping and desperate for touch again, the movement stops.

“This is the depth to which we will deposit eggs,” Nurse Husa explains. It feels like his entire body is occupied by tentacle; Jack can’t imagine what further depth might even exist. “Your Jack is a prime candidate, and fully approved for all requested services.”

“Oh,” the Doctor says, concern warring with affection and pride. “Yes, he is rather a wonder.” His hand is still on Jack’s belly, palpating curiously.

“I will next be increasing the size of this probe to begin the stretching process. There will be significant discomfort with this step,” the nurse says, which strikes Jack as an ominous proclamation, considering it has been _may be_ before now. He already feels fuller than ever before -!

“Go ahead,” says the Doctor; Jack takes a horrified breath and then it all comes back out in a broken howl as, like a hose filling with water, the base of the tentacle previously pulsing quietly in Jack’s stretched hole expands suddenly to twice the size - and it keeps going. Filling his rectum, barrelling through his inner sphincter, expanding his gut in a sweeping wave up one side of him, across, and down the other side. The Doctor exclaims in fascination as Jack groans in agony, shaking helplessly, unable to consider movement as the fullness he had just begun getting used to turns into a catastrophic flood.

There is talking, but he can’t understand it. There is a hand stroking his cock, but he can’t process it. There is something pushing at his lips; Jack opens his eyes, dazed and unfocused, to see a tentacle swaying in front of his face. Helplessly, he closes his eyes, opens his mouth, and as it slips thick and smooth down his throat everything goes white as he comes hard enough to break him.

\---

“Jack. Jack. Come back to me now, come back, Captain.” There is a hand petting his forehead, something soft under his cheek. The Doctor sounds concerned about something, so Jack does his best to pay attention. “Gently,” the Doctor murmurs. “Don’t try to move, just open your eyes, Jack.”

He does, and finds himself lying on his side on something so comfortable he feels weightless, arms folded in front of him with a pillow wedged between, the Doctor lounging next to him, watching him with concern as well as a deep appreciation. “Hm,” says Jack.

The Doctor smiles. “There you are.” His smile falters. “I sincerely hope this is not a traumatic question, Captain, but… how are you feeling?”

For a moment Jack can’t think why there might be any problem there; then he draws a deeper breath to attempt to say as much and the increased pressure inside brings every abuse he has subjected his body to in the last few days crashing back down on him, with interest. Gasping shallowly, he squeezes his eyes closed in an attempt not to tense anything _else_ and tries to take stock. 

Whatever he is in, it isn’t exactly pain. It’s too all-encompassing for that, too sourceless, too fundamental to his being. “I,” he says. “I’m.” Not _fine_. _Fine_ is a completely inadequate word for this situation. “I’m full.”

“Yes,” the Doctor agrees, concern not entirely abated. “You are.”

“Eggs?” He’ll be disappointed if he missed that part.

“No, no. You’ll need to be awake and aware for that, they won’t do it otherwise. This is just… the stretching phase.”

“Oh.” Cautiously, Jack tries stretching an arm and decides that is the wrong kind of stretching. The Doctor puts it back on the pillow and weaves his fingers with Jack’s.

“Do you want to feel?”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, not sure what he’s going to be feeling. The Doctor moves their hands off the pillow, out of Jack’s view, sets them against a huge bloated curve that must be his belly, because Jack can feel that side of it too - but his belly hasn't been so far from the rest of him since the last time he was pregnant. Slowly the Doctor draws their intertwined fingers over and across the round mass, over skin stretched taut as a drum, across an incredible expanse of warm and slightly pulsing fullness. Jack can feel every millimetre of their travel; it is certainly himself containing this. “Sorry I missed that.”

“You didn’t, really. It’s mostly - do you remember the tentacle up your arse, Captain?” Jack moans, and reflexively tries to clench, and finds he can’t.

“What -”

“It’s still there. All of it.” He frees his hand from Jack’s and reaches behind him, presses - presses on the end of the tentacle, shed after the _exam_ as a massive plug to keep him full and stretched. “A little bigger than when you passed out, actually, I thought we might as well if you weren’t going to notice anyway.” Jack pulls a face at him. “Well! One fewer increase you have to suffer through. Do you remember the tentacle in your mouth, though? You might not.”

Jack frowns. Something in his throat, deep and choking - “Vaguely. I liked that.”

“I could tell,” the Doctor agrees, concern finally fading as he laughs.

“It’s not still there.”

“Oh, no. But it filled your stomach with another couple litres of - whatever it is. And it’s almost time for another belly-full, I’m afraid.”

Alarmed, Jack presses carefully over the curve of the expanded midsection he still hasn’t seen. Nothing trying to press up his throat, so presumably his stomach has successfully emptied - but that doesn’t mean there’s any more room in there. He sighs. “If they’re sure it’ll fit, I’m game. I think I thought this would all be… less incremental.”

The Doctor frowns sceptically at him. “What, just pump you full, rupture your intestines, split your sphincters with a bunch of giant eggs, and then… on to the next? That sounds terribly irresponsible.”

Jack grins and relaxes back into the ridiculously comfortable bed. “You don’t consume a lot of porn, do you.”

“With you around, why would I need to?” The Doctor sounds genuinely confused.

“Very good point. Come over here and rub my back like you did yesterday.” The Doctor shifts closer until Jack’s overripe belly is nestled against the hollow of his own, then reaches around to rub circles with a heavy hand against Jack’s lower back. The movement rocks him just enough to feel the shifting fullness all the way through him, just enough to be a little past soothing, and the press of the Doctor’s soft shirt against taut, aching skin is good enough to make Jack moan. They lie there together, lost in each other, until the door chimes and Nurse Husa reappears.

“Nurse Husa,” the Doctor says, without moving away from Jack in the slightest. “Jack is awake.”

“Wonderful. Is he well?” A tentacle slides over Jack’s belly, pressing clinically as Jack moans into the Doctor’s hair; moving lower, it brushes across his cock - which is brilliant, Jack could _definitely_ do with some more of that - then loops around his left leg to pull it up and forward.

“He is. He’s ready for the next bit.”

There is pressure against Jack’s arse and then something else forces its way in. He whimpers as his sphincters are stretched yet further. “I am making sure no injury has occurred,” the nurse explains, a bit belatedly in Jack’s opinion. “This plug is open at the base; you may use it as you wish.” This small addition is enough to have Jack’s cock twitching enthusiastically again; does he even have enough stretch left to let the Doctor fuck him like this? The Doctor moans quietly, presses a little harder against his belly, and Jack knows they’re going to try. “Everything seems well. Are you ready?”

The Doctor raises his head to catch Jack’s eye. “Ready, Captain?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Jack says, smiling. The Doctor kisses him, then moves back a little and props himself up on an elbow so he can see Jack’s belly, other hand resting weightlessly on top. Jack takes a deep breath, tilts his head back, and opens his mouth for the waiting tentacle.

It slides down as easily as he remembers from the first time, pleasantly thick and very smooth, nicer than any cock that's ever fucked his throat - _longer_ than any cock, much longer, it just keeps going and going! Fighting a losing war with his reflexes, Jack tries not to swallow - then he tries not to gag - then he tries not to choke - then he tries not to throw up, and would have failed at all his attempts except for the fact that he physically _can't_. The tentacle breaches his stomach and stills, letting the painful spasms stop; Jack tries to breathe and finds he can, barely. He can feel his hips thrusting helplessly despite the intense discomfort the motion causes his insides, nothing but the still-unexpected curve of his belly for his cock to bump into - the Doctor can see how desperate he is, surely -

Head tilted back, Jack can't see him, but he can hear the hunger in the Doctor's voice when he speaks. "If you could see yourself, Captain. Choking, begging, full to bursting, trapped and silent and _mine_." He takes a ragged breath, hand stroking Jack's belly possessively, then says, "Go on. I want to see -"

Jack flails as the tentacle expands in his throat; the Doctor pins his hands underneath his supporting arm and returns to stroking Jack's belly. It's not as bad as the one in his arse, it doesn't jump to twice the size, but he can feel the fullness traveling down his throat to his stomach, his horribly abused stomach, and he isn't in control again, isn't in control of any of it, he had so much trouble getting two litres in before and now it's going to happen all at once and he can't stop it, can’t stop any of it -

His stomach begins to expand.

Jack would scream if he could.

A hand clamps down on his throat, not hard but with the fullness inside it doesn't take much pressure to claim his attention; Jack goes blank and limp in surprise. "Captain," the Doctor says, darkly dangerous. "I want you to do this for me. Relax, and take it."

In the sure knowledge of where control rests, Jack relaxes, and takes it.

It's a thing Jack can't ignore, can't escape from, the way he is being blown up like a balloon, forced to give way, muscles and tissues stretching and stretching around all that is inside him. The pressure grows slowly into a torturous immensity, inescapable in the completeness with which it takes him over, hollows him out and fills up the space he is certain isn't even there with pain. It does stop, eventually; the tentacle retreats slightly to let the sphincter there close safely, then deflates and pulls out, slow and smooth, wonderful for leaving and horrible for going the wrong direction.

When he can, Jack moans. When he can, he moves his head to look at the Doctor.

"You don't need to be in control," the Time Lord says, ancient eyes in that too-young face pinning Jack like a mouse. "I'm here."

"Yes," Jack whispers. He closes his eyes and cries in relief and pain, thinking of nothing but the fullness inside and the hand roaming ceaselessly over his distended belly.

Some time later, after the tears have stopped and Jack is still and quiet under the Doctor’s inquiring touch, after he has stopped the involuntary pained noises and weak flailing attempts to push the Doctor away at any additional pressure, after the glassy-eyed stare has gone and he can track the Doctor’s movements again, the Doctor gets up, kisses him deeply, and moves around behind him.

Finger making a somewhat alarmingly large path as it circles Jack’s stretched and plugged hole, the Doctor says, “This is quite impressive, really. I knew you could take a lot, Captain, but I never thought…” He pauses, finger lifting only to press down on the plug. “I never realised I was quite so…”

“You’re not,” Jack rasps. “Not inadequate. Never.”

“I suppose,” the Doctor admits after a moment, “you haven’t seemed to find me so.” He presses again and Jack moans encouragingly; then his finger slips _inside_ which Jack supposes he was expecting, on some level, but it still makes him jolt in surprise; which disturbs his very, very full insides, which makes him tense up in hopes of stopping it, which just makes it all worse. The Doctor’s hand returns to his belly, long, light strokes around and around, and gradually Jack relaxes back into a boneless stupor - and then the finger presses inside him again.

“Doctor,” Jack moans.

“May I?” He is very close to Jack’s ear, breath cool on his neck. “May I try?”

“Yes,” Jack sighs. “Please. Slow.”

“Very slow,” the Doctor promises, and presses a second finger in. Whatever it is the tentacle was pumped full of has a comfortable amount of give to it, solidified; although certainly enough to feel it, Jack doesn’t think he has actually been stretched two more fingers worth. Perhaps the Doctor’s cock will fit after all. Finding out should, in any case, be an agreeable way to spend the time until whatever comes next.

As his fingers work Jack yet more open, the Doctor lavishes him with pent up energy in the form of a flurry of kisses spread over his shoulders and the back of his neck, a spate of more and less gentle bites likewise that gives Jack a welcome distraction from all the goings-on inside of him. When he pushes a third finger in, the Doctor distracts Jack from the burn of it with an unexpectedly hard bite to his shoulder; but after that he only nuzzles and kisses and tucks his legs up against the back of Jack’s, silently coaxing him to relax, relax, relax. Eyes closed, breaths shallow and slow, Jack moans when the fingers slide out and tries not to tense in anticipation. 

He can't feel anything but pressure when the Doctor's cock comes to rest against the base of the plug, can't feel the drag of skin, can't feel the shimmer of all the nerve endings there, can't feel the slick slide against his rim; he only feels a jostle too light to set his insides moving and then a determined, steady press. The Doctor clearly feels much more, although considering all the buildup he's had the last few hours maybe it's a wonder he is coherent at all.

"Jack," he moans, burrowing into Jack's shoulder, "it's so tight, I don't know if I'm going to fit but I want to so badly… This feels nothing like you, Captain, warm and tight but so… oh -"

Jack whimpers as his sphincters give way with a burst of searing pain; fingers digging into his hip, the Doctor cries out, a great terrified wail as resistance suddenly disappears and he bottoms out, hips slamming into Jack's arse with far too much force. Unable to do more than endure, Jack crushes the pillow to his chest as his guts spasm in reawakened awareness of their unwelcome intrusion, as coils of overfilled intestines shift and distort, as abdominal muscles threaten to tear in an attempt at tightening that comes too late, much too late.

"Jack," the Doctor is begging, utterly still behind him, "Jack, please, say something, are you alright, Jack? Please, please, say something."

“Hm,” Jack manages, fairly emphatically; it seems important.

Head falling heavy against Jack’s in relief, the Doctor snugs himself tight against his back in lieu of the more normal arm around him. The movement relights the shockingly bright pain of his hole still stretched around the enormous plug further expanded by the Doctor’s cock. All the other pain is dull, a groundswell, a flood, driving Jack out of his mind with the sheer weight of it; this new pain is strangely cleansing. “I’m sorry,” the Doctor murmurs. “I hurt you, I’m sorry, Jack. Tell me what to do, I didn’t want to make any more sudden movements - you just went _blank_ and I was so afraid -”

“Keep going,” Jack says, and if it is barely intelligible, that rarely matters between them.

“ _What?_ ”

Maybe it matters this time. Jack swallows, takes a breath. “Keep. Going.” Another breath, in the breathless silence. "Slow. Gentle." The Doctor still doesn't move so Jack does, musters all his concentration to roll his hips forward, just a little, and back, groaning as the movement ripples through him.

Jack can't feel the slide as the Doctor tentatively pulls out, just a sort of settling feeling. He can't feel it as the Doctor pushes smoothly in again either, but he can feel the force and expansion of it and he can hear the desperate little whimpering moan he so loves to wring from the Doctor. 

"Yes," Jack says, reassuring, "yes." _This is good, this is right_. The worst of the pain is already fading and he is full, so full, stuffed to his limits and taken over and cared for and completely loved. His only unfulfilled wish now is to see it, see how huge his belly is, how wide his arse is stretched. He shifts his arms carefully, lets the pillow fall away, and looks down at himself.

Half out of his head already, still the Doctor notices Jack's shocked exclamation and pauses. "Jack?" he says, voice cracking under the strain.

"Wanted to see," Jack breathes. "Keep going." The fading red lines of stretch marks mar all the skin he can see, crazed like pottery glaze over the vessel of his body. He touches them tentatively, feels the great round swell underneath, lets his hand slide down and finds he can only awkwardly reach his cock anymore. The Doctor's hand creeps down from his hip to join him, wrapping easily around, holding the half-hard length of him in a firm grip that is, Jack finds, exactly what he needed. Despite the Doctor's clear desperation, the beautiful noises pouring from his throat that he can't seem to quiet, he moves slow and sure and steady and Jack begins to feel the push and pull of it with a tidal force, as though he contains the sea. He moans, and watches the sway of his belly, and lets himself drift.

In an impressive display of self-control, the Doctor changes his movement not at all as he nears climax; only his cries become louder, hoarser, and he bites down on Jack’s shoulder and then his hand clenches, just a little, and he falls still, shuddering against Jack’s back. Reaching carefully, Jack slides his hand up his lover’s arm, over to his hip, thumb moving in a gentle caress as he comes down. It has the happy side-effect of stopping him pulling out immediately, as well.

“Good?”

“So good,” the Doctor moans. “ _So_ good, Jack, thank you.”

“Good.” Jack sighs happily. Everything in him feels just slightly loosened again. That’s the point, he supposes; the stretching. “Wish I could see.”

“There’s a mirror,” the Doctor says, as if Jack might have noticed. He hasn’t noticed anything but the bed, the Doctor, and his own body for quite a while now. “Maybe I can… hm. Maybe with a second mirror. I’ll get one. You should see.” He carefully sets Jack’s hand back on his belly and pulls out slowly, part way; his hand comes to feel around the plug as he shifts around. “Could fit six of me in here, Captain.” Jack moans at the image that statement conjures and the Doctor pushes back in once more, then pulls out slowly. Ejaculate slides obscenely down Jack’s arse as the passage closes behind him; he almost laughs that that is the sensation that finally pushes this experience into _obscenity_. “Let me get a towel,” the Doctor says, and bounces up from the bed, mobile in a way Jack can no longer imagine being. His insides are full of movement, but he himself lies in replete stillness, nearly thoughtless.

When the Doctor returns he is talking to himself, but he pauses before he gets to the bed. “Captain,” he says, something odd in his voice. “You look…”

“Hm?” Jack prompts, when he fails to make any further progress. He feels the Doctor settle behind him on the bed, dab at the mess carefully.

“Debauched,” the Doctor says softly. “Wrecked. Absolutely magnificent.” He touches the plug again, very carefully. “I wasn’t thinking about… just what we were doing. I was doing. Fucking a, a dead tentacle, quite recently attached to a living being of my acquaintance, itself currently entirely filling your large intestine after having fucked you quite extensively.” His finger traces the path of it on Jack’s back and as much as Jack hasn’t been _unaware_ of the reality, it hits him a little harder then and he has the sudden, intense desire to feel the tentacle move. “We are, possibly… somewhat depraved, Captain.”

“Yep,” Jack says, happy with this conclusion, wondering what would happen if he pulled.


	3. Limits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is stretched to the limits of his body, and the Doctor is not okay with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: further tentacles, inflation, force feeding, and pain. Also serious discussion, hitting mental and physical limits, and top drop. Plus some self-voyeurism. Narcissism? What would you call that.

“I got you a mirror,” the Doctor announces after another excursion, distracting Jack from his careful wriggling to try to map out his interestingly different innards.

“Set it up, then,” Jack says eagerly.

The Doctor wheels a versatile stand holding a sizeable display over to the side of the bed Jack can see with proprietary pride. “Actually it’s not a mirror. It’s better.” Once he gets it situated to his satisfaction, he holds up what turns out to be a camera and Jack can see himself from its point of view, lying there in bed with a distinctly beached-whale air about him. His belly is enormous, and for a moment he sees nothing else - a great round more-than-hemisphere appended to his front, skin stretched taut and striated where its integrity failed, his own fairly large hand dwarfed by its bulk. His navel, invisible to him before this new perspective, doesn’t even pretend to have anywhere _inward_ to go; his cock, still making an attempt, lies on his thigh all but completely overshadowed. _That’s_ a shame.

Eyes traveling back upwards, Jack considers the way even the lower section of his ribcage seems to bulge outward. “I suppose it’s a wonder I can still breathe,” he says, hand exploring the contours along with his gaze. He presses experimentally just below his ribs; nothing threatens to come back up. “It all seems securely… in.”

For a moment the Doctor’s brows draw down and he seems about to say something, but in the end he lets it pass, waves his hand vaguely toward Jack’s back. “Shall I?”

“Oh, _yes_. Please.”

As he circles the bed Jack catches a glimpse of himself from the feet up, view obscured entirely past the great roundness of his middle; then his backside comes into view and Jack moans breathlessly, heart racing at the sheer size of the tentacle impaling him. What he can see of it looks like it should be the base of a plug, and a wide base at that - but he knows it is the thing itself, can see the way his arse deforms around it. It doesn’t need a wider base, after all. It can’t possibly go in any further. Blood rushing to his cock, Jack pants shallowly, lightheaded at the realisation that half the extra volume in his belly must be that thing, must be the placeholder opening the way for the eggs he will soon be filled with. His hips thrust involuntarily - he can see himself moving now, no doubt that is him on the screen - and it reawakens the ache deep inside, too much solidity where his body wants easy, empty movement. He had wanted to feel it, but it does hurt.

Unconsciously he reaches back to touch, is vaguely surprised when his hand appears in the view on the screen; feels around, mapping it out with higher fidelity now that he can see the terrain. The Doctor makes an overwhelmed little noise and then his hand is there too, like he can’t keep away. He touches the lower side that Jack can’t reach, slips fingertips between the plug and Jack’s cheek pressed into the bed, massages the stretched rim that Jack is beginning to suspect may never close again - or at least not until his next reset. What state must this leave a normal body in?

Enough of the plug protrudes that Jack tries to pull on it, but he can’t get a good grip and it doesn’t budge. He tries to slip a finger inside but he can’t get the angle right without bending - and that, pain aside, is simply impossible now. The Doctor lends his fingers to the effort instead. Jack watches as one finger pushes slowly in, enjoying the noise his lover makes as much as the protest from his body, moaning himself as the Doctor pulls away then pushes right back in with two.

“Tell me how it feels, Jack,” the Doctor commands, voice low and rough.

“It’s like, it’s almost like,” Jack watches the fingers pump in and out hungrily, wishing he could feel the movement on his skin. “Oh, fuck. It’s like the inflatable plug, kind of. When you push in. It pushes in. Stretching, pulsing, hurts, it _aches_ , it all aches, Doctor, all through me, I’m all… overfilled. Overstretched. Every little bit. But this, this is the only part that gets _better_. It feels _so good_.” He swallows, eyes riveted to the display, fingers laying along what used to be the cleft of his arse to feel the rhythmically swelling bulge of fullness there. “And it looks amazing.”

“ _You_ look amazing,” the Doctor says. “You _are_ amazing.”

“That’s - _unh_ \- that’s much nicer than you usually are.”

The Doctor considers this for a little while as he continues to fuck Jack on his fingers; Jack just lies still and enjoys it, little pleased noises escaping every so often. “You must be extraordinarily full of shit on a regular basis to fit this thing in you?”

“That’s more like it,” Jack agrees, trying to keep his laughter to a non-painful minimum.

“You’re completely helpless here, Jack,” the Doctor points out solemnly. “Brings out the caretaker in me. Can’t be… casually abusive, not like this.”

“You aren’t."

"I assure you I am rarely maliciously abusive."

"That's not what I meant," Jack sighs. He has these crises of faith in himself; mostly when other people demonstrate their faith in him. "Put the camera down and come here." Guilty and relieved, the Doctor crawls silently into his arms; as awkward as it is right now, Jack knows it's where he needs to be. "Are you really okay with this? We can stop, just empty me out and leave. At any time. We can say no to any of it. But if we stay, Doctor, I'm going to need you with me. In control, like you have been. You've been _brilliant_. If this is as far as we can go, that's okay, it really is."

The Doctor nuzzles into his neck, roots against him - for what, Jack doesn't know; for comfort, maybe, just comfort. "I want to do this with you," he says; Jack can hear the oncoming qualifier. "But I hate seeing you in pain."

"I can't tell you where your limits are, Doctor. You know where mine are." Generally far beyond the Doctor's. But this adventure is Jack's, and as much as the Doctor enjoys parts of it, it is a strain for him. Loosening his hold on his lover's shoulders, Jack feels blindly for one of his hands and tugs it up to lay on his belly. The bloated coils of his intestines barely move under the pressure, everything solidly trapped inside; peristalsis probably entirely halted at this point, Jack simply marinates in a nutrient bath, no cramping, no attempts at rejection, just a vast, crushing fullness.

The Doctor's hands pet him slow and firm, leaving a queasy trail behind them; Jack breathes, but he can no longer breathe deeply. Finally, forehead tucked to Jack's collarbone, the Doctor says, "There's another stomach fill."

Too terrified to speak, Jack just takes a shallow breath, holds it, lets it out; repeats.

"Or a partial one, maybe. If your stomach has drained, which… it sounds like it has. The last one was so bad, Jack…" He looks up, tormented eyes meeting Jack's. "We can say no."

Jack swallows tightly, not trying to vanquish the fear, just riding it. This is why he is here. To be pushed beyond, to be made mindless - he wants it, but if the Doctor can't stand strong, Jack can't afford to let go. "The worst thing is," he says, throat already trying to rebel although he won't be asking it to swallow anything, "I really think there's room. Just."

“You want to do it,” the Doctor says, looking away.

“I’m terrified,” Jack admits, “And I’ll probably need you to hold me down again. It’s going to hurt and I may panic again and I have no idea how I’ll keep it down and I doubt I’ll be at all coherent, but yes. Yes, I do want to do it."

Drawing a slow breath, the Doctor looks back at him. "Then I want to do it with you."

"Alright. _Can_ you?"

A tiny smirk tilts one side of the Doctor's face; Jack is very glad to see it. "I can do anything I want to do, Captain. And you can do anything I want you to do, too."

"Yes," Jack says gratefully, hiding none of his wildly mixed reactions from his lover. "I can."

Decided now, the Doctor slides up the bed a bit until he can catch Jack's lips, open in invitation, in a bruising kiss. Jack moans happily as his mouth is claimed and filled like the rest of him, wedged open and explored deeply by an uncompromising tongue. He shudders and cries out as the Doctor's hands begin to massage his belly with a powerful determination, trying to stretch Jack more now so the last fill is less painful. With pressure beating against his diaphragm in waves Jack breathes in shallow gasps at a rhythm dictated to him, exhaling in weak cries the Doctor swallows down without mercy. His face is wet with tears.

He hopes he will not have to convince the Doctor anymore, because he is not sure he could. He is still certain a little more will fit - he is starting to feel more movement inside, which means the abdominal wall is stretching - but he is not certain he could argue for more pain successfully again. The Doctor, he hopes, will make sure he gets what he wanted.

With a last nip and lick at Jack's lips, the Doctor props himself up and looks down at him, one hand still busy with his impossibly full belly. “You are amazing,” his Time Lord repeats. “Beautiful. Impossible. Stubborn as time. I want to see you filled to overflowing, Captain, I do. Will you do that for me? Will you take more, even if it hurts, even if you think you can’t?”

“More,” Jack sobs, broken open by the praise, by the loving care in the Doctor’s voice, as no mere physical intrusion could do. “Yes, Doctor.”

He tries to halt the hand he has just realised is chasing after the Doctor’s over his midsection in an attempt to stop the torment. The Doctor's hand slides lower, to where Jack can’t reach it, probing at his navel which sends an electric pulse straight to the bladder he has somehow forgotten entirely about, down and down and then it’s sliding down his very hard cock and Jack jolts in shock, hips jerking, a yowl of surprise tearing from his throat. He groans as the movement reverberates through him, sloshing him about in a slow slide, a fresh insult to nerves reawoken to a screaming intensity by the Doctor’s massage.

When at last he notices anything else again, the Doctor is stroking his cock with an open palm; it presses up against his belly entirely now, matching the curve of it. His fingers cup Jack’s balls gently at the end of each slow stroke. Jack moans, and tries not to move.

“Good?” the Doctor asks.

“Good,” Jack agrees, eyes shut.

“Any minute now,” the Doctor says softly, apologetically. Before Jack can quite process that, the door chimes, and Nurse Husa reappears.

“Doctor,” the nurse greets them. “How is your Jack?”

“In some pain,” the Doctor admits, “but we do not wish to skip steps or stop. Please continue.”

“Very well.” Tentacles creep over Jack’s belly, palpating with a brutal efficiency against all the newly resensitised nerves. As Jack groans in pain, Nurse Husa adds, “If I may be excused for saying so, your Jack has astonishing capacity and resiliency for an individual of his species. Today has been memorable for me.”

“He is a wonder,” the Doctor agrees, with warm affection. He leans down to kiss Jack gently; when he pulls away Jack has given up trying to watch anything else. His face is all the world Jack needs right now. “Thank you. Memorable for us as well, Nurse Husa.”

There seem to be more tentacles involved this time, or maybe just a very long one, writhing across Jack’s expanded skin, coiling around his cock. His left leg is lifted again, and he is tilted back just slightly which makes everything shift and settle again inside, and probably opens up a little more space as well. “I will be checking for any damage again,” Jack hears, and then a thin tentacle cinches around his balls, crawls across his perineum in a faintly horrible and very arousing slither, circles the base of the plug. Jack can feel every millimetre of its progress as it sets off a terrible burning, itching conflagration in the sensitive skin of his stretched rim, denied sensation for hours.

“Fuck, fuck, oh -” Twitching and shuddering at the new sensation, Jack grunts as another thin tentacle penetrates his arse in a rippling rush. The Doctor is watching him avidly, eyes dark and fascinated; he kneels up and moves to stay in Jack’s view as his head tilts back, eyes unfocusing, trying not to tense. Cool fingers touch his throat gently when Jack’s mouth falls open in a silent cry as the tentacle wrapped around his cock pulses and _twists_ and then _another_ tentacle, not so thin, is plunging down his throat and it’s too much, it’s everything he wanted. Every opening filled, every part of him taken over, Jack gives in to the ecstacy rolling over him and comes, the Doctor gripping his hands tightly as he spasms.

Down in his stomach the filling tentacle twitches as Jack tries to catch his breath with the slim airway remaining to him. He doesn’t actually want to pass out for this - or maybe part of him does, but not the part that matters. The pain coming is a gift for him to endure, or to be lost to. As the tentacle prods his insides Jack watches the Doctor. His right hand rests lightly at the top of Jack’s belly, feeling the movement from the outside; his left hand is back on Jack’s throat, calming and controlling.

“His stomach has drained almost completely. Do you consent to a fill not to exceed a pressure expected to be containable by a healthy esophageal sphincter? We do not advise movement of any kind, aside from necessary respiration, for at least an hour after this fill, including palpations of the outer surface.”

The Doctor peers into Jack’s eyes, not exactly asking, but ascertaining his state. Then he smiles, a crooked, wry thing, and moves to capture Jack’s arms under his knees, safely restrained. “We consent,” he says, returning his hands to Jack’s belly and throat, and then the tentacle expands, and Jack remembers why he needs restraining.

His first panicked flail is cut short by the feel of the Doctor holding him down; after so long, he trusts the Doctor implicitly to keep him safe. He wanted to feel this, Jack reminds himself. He wanted to feel everything. The Doctor will take care of the rest.

“Breathe, Captain,” the Doctor coaxes. “Just breathe, and feel. I’ll want you to tell me, later, so pay attention.”

Pulsing gently, a little more of the tentacle slides past Jack’s lips; it is slick and faintly sweet against his tongue. It slides back out slightly, setting off a selection of very confused reactions that Jack concentrates on keeping minimally expressed, then slides in what must be another twenty centimeters, the bulk of it expanding his stomach even before the filling begins. Jack whimpers, or tries to.

“Shh,” the Doctor says, stroking his throat. “You can do it, Captain. I want you to.” Jack can’t nod, impaled as he is, but he blinks, and nevermind the tears the action dislodges.

A relaxing warmth begins to grow inside, and it takes another three breaths before Jack realises suddenly that _this_ is the fill; it had been exactly body temperature before, indistinguishable from himself except for the pain it caused. This time it heats like a warm bowl of soup in winter - and now, now it hurts, a familiar pain at this point but worse every time because he knows, he _knows_ , there is a hard limit somewhere. He can’t do it, he _can’t_ , he was wrong, disastrously wrong -

The pain stops getting worse. Jack locks his eyes on the Doctor’s face, hoping it is over, but he is still watching with the same intent expression - and then Jack’s eyes roll back in his head as the extra tentacle in his arse pulses and slides out, making another little bit of room inside. 

His ribs creak as his stomach expands again.

Jack tries to move, tries to kick, but he forgot his leg is restrained too; his hips shift and his belly wobbles and the pain washes over him in crashing waves, dragging him down, but all attempts at protest fail. To Jack's absolute horror, the tentacle in his throat pumps in and out a few times, sliding with a violating ease all the way down - _how_ far down -? stirring his insides, trying to burst him like an overripe berry -!

The Doctor's hand is against his face now, thumb pulling his eye open, demanding his attention. "You can take more, Captain," his lover insists. Jack tries to shake his head. "Yes, you can. You know you can. You're still thinking, still fearing, still fighting. That's not what any of us want. Stop. Would it help to see yourself?" The idea is compelling enough to claim Jack's attention. Remembering himself, he falls still and blinks; the Doctor's mouth twitches. "Of course it would. I'll have to get up to move the display - will you be alright? No trying to hit the nurse?" Jack blinks, then squints one eye. He isn't entirely in control of the flailing. The Doctor looks up from Jack to their local tentacle monster. "Nurse Husa, will you wait whilst I get Jack settled?"

"Of course, Doctor," Nurse Husa replies. "This will be more successful if he can relax."

The Doctor looks as though he has distinctly mixed feelings about _success_ here, but after another careful look at Jack he gets up to move the display to where Jack can see it fairly well. He turns on the camera, and Jack -

He doesn't gasp, because he can't, and he doesn’t exclaim, because he can’t, but his eyes widen in delight at the utter depravity of his situation. Back arched, head thrown back to accommodate the thick, pulsing tentacle stretching his lips, engorging his throat, Jack looks like some sort of sacrifice laid out for offering or feast, purplish-brown tentacles covering him in enthusiastic profusion: a thick one arranged artistically over his belly, freshly reddened stretch marks visible between its coils, one like a climbing vine holding his leg captive and elevated, baring to easy view the thin tentacles twining all about his cock and balls. All that’s missing is that one recently up his arse, and it isn’t as though he is actually lacking there, is it? Jack watches the slow pulse of the tentacles in fascination, arches his back slightly more and watches the uneasy ripple of overextended muscle across his badly distended abdomen, pain following jaggedly in its path.

The view shifts a bit, and then the Doctor is touching his face. Jack tears his eyes away from the riveting display to seek out his lover. “Ready for more, Captain?” Jack blinks, and looks back at the screen. He can take it. That body there on the screen, it can take anything. “Go ahead, please, Nurse Husa.”

The tentacle turning him into this strange, warped shape pulses slightly in what Jack is coming to recognise as a precursor to movement, then begins to retreat in a slow, inexorable pull up his throat. Jack watches the way his throat tries to gag and retch, blinks away the tears that come with the stabbing pains as his stomach spasms; he doesn’t try to stop it anymore. He isn’t in control, here. The tentacle’s absence leaves behind no relief but only a growing warmth - and then a growing pressure as well, a pain that starts small but doubles, and doubles, and doubles again. The view goes sideways and then he feels his hands being trapped beneath the Doctor's knees, knows he must have started flailing involuntarily again. It's no surprise, Jack thinks distantly; there seems to be an explosion happening in slow motion in his belly. Any moment now there will be the spray of viscera to prove it -

"Almost done, Captain," the Doctor's voice promises, cutting through the miasma of pain dimming Jack's world. "You're doing so well, you're taking this so well for me, I know you can do it, Jack -"

His voice is strange and Jack watches, just watches, the body on the display writhe in terrified agony, tears streaming unheeded down his face.

When he can't take any more, there is more.

When a new pain like a jointing knife tears through the centre of his chest, he can't scream, and there is more.

When at last his vision begins to go red and his lungs barely expand and his pulse hammers through him like storm-driven waves and the body on the screen jerks and shudders and Jack no longer knows if it is _him_ \- then, finally, it stops.

The tentacle crawls, deflated, from his throat, and Jack loves the feeling for not being pain. Unsteady fingers try to brush away the tears that keep falling, and he loves them for not bringing pain. Softness surrounds him at every side, and careful forces move his limbs, and a beloved voice says, “Rest now, Captain. You’ve done so well.” Jack closes his eyes. He breathes, and that is all, for a long time. His body endures, full beyond comprehension.

Gradually a familiar rhythm begins to impart structure to the waves washing freely through Jack's mind, a quick double drumbeat, inaudible but fluttering faint against Jack's skin. The smell of comfort in his nose, cool breath stirring his hair; the light touch of fingertips spread against his collarbone. Cracking open one eye, Jack sees only the Doctor's shirt. Tucked safely away against his lover's hearts, Jack smiles. 

He hasn't exploded, apparently. He did it. He hadn’t expected his body to remember quite so well an experience which he certainly does not, not in any clear, conscious way, but maybe this not-quite-repetition will be good for it; overwrite that long-ago trauma somehow.

"Hey," he says, or tries to. It comes out a hoarse whisper.

The Doctor startles badly. "Jack?"

"'S me. Alright?”

“Am I - of course _I’m_ alright - No,” he says, abruptly changing course. “No, I’m _not_ alright -” And then he is sobbing, great gasping breaths of pent up misery, fingers clutching at Jack’s shoulder, sliding up into his hair to press his head closer against the Doctor’s neck. Jack burrows gladly and thinks comforting thoughts about his brave, brilliant, wonderful Doctor.

When the storm has passed, the Doctor sniffles and says wetly, “That was horrid, Jack. Watching you trying to scream, mindless with pain and terror… _holding you down_ , ordering you to take it -!”

“Sorry,” Jack whispers. “Didn’t think. Be that bad. Memories.” His lung capacity is nowhere near normal.

After a moment, clearly having trouble imagining what recent events might remind Jack of, the Doctor ventures, “Dare I ask - memories of what?”

“Exploding.”

“Oh. _Oh._ Hm.” His fingers card soothingly through Jack’s hair. “You didn’t, this time.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees happily.

“Are you really alright?”

“Yeah. Full.”

Finally pulling away to see Jack’s face, the Doctor chuckles. “You are that. Very, very full. I am advised not to attempt to make you overflow just yet.”

A frisson of interest shivers down Jack’s spine. “Mm. Later, then?” It’s something the Doctor enjoys, he knows, as a follow-on to filling him up: trying to make it all come back out. And filled this full, it could be quite exciting.

Fingers playing gently down Jack’s neck, venturing a little way down his back, the Doctor agrees, “Later. Are you in pain?”

Letting his awareness descend along with his lover’s fingers, Jack considers. “Chest hurts. Sternum.”

“It’s the cartilage. Ribcages are only meant to expand so much.”

“Brilliant,” Jack breathes. He attempts a larger breath, winces at the knifelike pain. Filled to his limits.

Brow furrowing quizzically, the Doctor props his head up to survey Jack. “Sometimes, Captain… well, as long as you’re getting what you want from this.”

“Yes,” Jack promises, “yes, I am, yes. Thank you.” He gets a smile and a gentle kiss for that, which means he is forgiven, which is good. He had never wanted this to hurt the Doctor. He tries to move his hand, wanting to feel his fully expanded size, but the movement pulls at muscles and ligaments unwilling to take the strain and he isn't quick enough to stifle the whimper. 

"Captain! Don't try to move. What do you need?"

"Want to feel," Jack says, aware he sounds sulky but not caring.

"Mm." The Doctor considers him for a moment, lower lip caught meditatively between his teeth. "I could?" His hand slides further down Jack's back and then around - and around - and around. The bloated curve of his belly takes a long time to traverse. Jack moans, eyes half lidded as he focuses on the soothing coolness sweeping over flesh too stretched to react. His pelvis aches; his spine feels stretched. He’s done pregnancy, but this is so much better, and weirder, and fuller. "There's no give at all," the Doctor murmurs, equally absorbed. His hand smoothes slowly around the lower curve. "Not the tiniest bit of room left."

Jack, reminded of an earlier question, asks, "Why don't I. Need to pee?"

“Oh. Well.” The Doctor flushes slightly, which is interesting. “It isn’t as though your bladder has anywhere to expand to, is it? No storage capacity. You’ve just been, sort of… leaking.”

“Oh.” Eyeing his lover thoughtfully, Jack guesses, “You like that.”

“For my sins,” the Doctor sighs. “Yes, I do.”

Jack smiles, satisfied. “Kinky bastard.”

“If I wasn’t when I took up with you, I certainly am now,” the Doctor agrees. His hand ventures lower to grasp Jack’s cock lightly; a thumb rasps over his slit and Jack shivers. “I suppose blocking it wouldn’t do anything but cause you pain.”

“Welcome. To try it,” Jack offers, feeling his cock hardening under the Doctor’s ministrations. 

“Maybe not right now.” The hand slides further, along his inner thigh, and Jack realises his left leg is still raised; it feels like a pillow now instead of tentacles holding it up, taking some of the pressure off his pelvis. “Comfortable everywhere?”

Amused, Jack huffs a very small laugh. “For a certain. Value. Of _comfortable_. Camera?”

“If you like,” the Doctor says, but he doesn’t move. “I have so many pillows holding you in place I don’t think you could see anything, though. I can’t see much. I didn’t… want you to hurt any more.” His hand slides back up Jack’s flank, over the top curve of his belly. “What I _can_ see, of course… is magnificent.” Jack just watches and feels, trying to memorise the awestruck, possessive look on his face, the delicate way he touches, as if Jack were something infinitely precious. “What a treasure you are, Captain. A jewel beyond price.”

“Couldn’t sell me. If you tried,” Jack agrees, then yelps at the way the very light smack the Doctor gives him reverberates through his insides. “Do that. Again,” he begs, panting. Watching him carefully, the Doctor does; Jack moans, suddenly understanding just how little effort it would take for that last fill to empty back out the way it came. The thought of it sets his stomach to trying to comply, and Jack fights it back down.

“Not yet,” the Doctor says, lust and hunger in his eyes, “but soon.”

“What’s next?” Jack asks, hoping for a distraction from his uneasy stomach.

His lover smiles eagerly. “Emptying you out.”


	4. Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor has a great deal of fun emptying Jack out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mind games, forced orgasm, emetophilia, graphic description of releasing what is essentially a really, really big enema.

“I don’t want. To be empty,” Jack sulks, for the third time.

“How else do you expect them to get the eggs in?” the Doctor points out, rolling his eyes. “I thought you wanted eggs.”

"Don't know. Some other way."

"This is how it works, Captain." The Doctor, on the other hand, does not sound upset in the slightest. In fact he is sizing up Jack like a particularly delectable meal, as if trying to decide where to start.

"What are you. Thinking about?"

“How I’ll do it.”

 _That_ sounds promising. Jack licks his lips. “Do what?”

“Well.” The Doctor eyes him sidelong, coyly, as he caresses the place Jack’s belly begins its bulge, arcing out from his ribs. “You must know this will be coming back out.” Feeling that last fill trying to crawl up his esophagus again, Jack swallows determinedly and nods. Not until the Doctor wants it. “I suppose it might not take more than permission,” the Time Lord muses, watching Jack’s face. “Which you _don’t_ have. No, I’m afraid I don’t feel like making this one easy for you, Captain. I’ll get it out of you, but you are to fight it to the end. Show me how much you want to be filled. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jack promises, lightheaded with desire as well as slightly queasy and already fighting it.

That dark, brilliant smile Jack would do absolutely anything for drifts into the corners of the Doctor’s mouth, deepens his eyes. He presses ever so slightly harder, testing; Jack moans, low and helpless. “I would so like to have you on your hands and knees again, but I doubt there’s any way to get you there without setting you off. Perhaps after this bit. It’s such a joy, seeing your belly dangling there, watching you struggle not to collapse onto it. What would that do to you at this point, I wonder.”

"Hurt," Jack says, certain of that if nothing else. Low-effort predicament bondage, without even needing the bondage. And, he supposes, if any of the last couple days could be called _low-effort_.

 _Predicament_ he has in spades.

"Terribly," the Doctor agrees. His hand drifts over Jack's belly, fondling the round fullness of him possessively. He prods lightly, and sometimes less lightly, mapping out Jack's reactions. "You should have to try quite hard."

"I would, I would," Jack moans, in current and anticipated pain.

"On the other hand," the Doctor says, smile positively wicked now, "you seemed to enjoy it once you were down, yesterday. Perhaps it would squeeze everything right out of you." His hand lifts, then comes down with a shocking jolt on the plug in Jack's arse, just so Jack can't possibly mistake his meaning.

Jack _squeals_ , and then tries to pretend he didn't; the Doctor's grin says he is unsuccessful. "I'm not. The one who's. Depraved here!" he gasps, unable to dismiss the image of himself, arse up, become some kind of bizarre fountain. He tries not to think about how it would probably feel so good he would let it happen without complaint.

"I did say _we_ ," his unexpectedly creative lover reminds him. “I could…” The Doctor wets his lips and Jack stares, riveted by the shadows in his eyes. “I could just… roll you onto your back. You couldn’t stop me.”

Blood a sudden rush in his ears, Jack’s vision narrows to a tunnel ending at the Doctor’s face as the consequences of doing so fall into his mind, cracking down one after another like ton-weight dominoes. He would kick and flail and scream but the Doctor is right, Jack couldn’t stop him. Assisted by gravity, his bloated intestines would settle heavier against his back, push harder toward his chest; his stomach, already questionable, would be the first to give way and fully two litres of whatever it is filling him would flow back out without the slightest chance of control, flooding his mouth, his nose, his sinus cavities, and then down into his lungs in the reflexive attempt to clear an airway - not that his lungs would be able to expand to take any decent breath in any case. He would choke to death whilst finding out whether the increase in pressure from gravity and his convulsions would be enough to dislodge the tentacle plugging his guts; and if it were enough to begin pushing it out, and if he were not dead yet, he would most likely die somewhere in the middle of a string of the most confused and painful orgasms of his long existence.

Almost more surprised than horrified, Jack realises he has finally found an orgasm he doesn’t want to try even once.

The Doctor’s thumb is stroking his cheek gently; that chilling look is gone from his eyes. “Was that too much? I’m sorry, Captain. I won’t do it. I wouldn’t.”

Swallowing convulsively, Jack tells himself firmly that he does _not_ need to give up and let it all out right now just to head off the very slim chance of such a thing happening by accident. “I know,” he assures his lover, when he can speak. “I know. Just… imagined. Not too much. Wanted to be. Helpless.”

"I'll try to emphasise your helplessness somewhere this side of terrified out of your wits, in future," the Doctor says wryly, and bends to kiss his wits away instead, which is vastly preferable even if it is getting increasingly difficult to control his stomach. In fact the Doctor seems to become more enthusiastic as Jack's moans get sicker, as he shudders and swallows more desperately -

Entirely, _entirely_ on purpose, Jack realises as he hears the zip of the Doctor's flies, feels him wriggle about; because then there is a very hard cock pressed against the farthest extent of his belly, head sliding slick next to his navel. The Doctor grunts in relief, hips thrusting in quick little jerks at first before he settles down to a slower motion; Jack sobs at the increased pressure, the gentle, repetitive push _upwards_ , and tries to hold it in.

"You're doing very well, Captain, quite remarkably well," the Doctor assures him, nuzzling his chin up to place hard kisses down the side of his throat, which makes him twitch weakly.

"Can't," Jack protests, after fighting his stomach down yet again.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm not expecting much longer," the Doctor says blithely - which perversely makes Jack _more_ determined, which he suspects the Doctor also knows about him, damn the man.

The door chimes, and the Doctor grins. "Nurse Husa," he says happily. "And who is this?" Jack firmly rejects the impulse to attempt to twist around and look for himself.

"This is Nurse Shua, the Doctor and Jack.” Is their whole language similar watery sounds, Jack wonders; or do they simply prefer the sounds when interacting with beings who communicate audibly? “Nurse Shua will be attending you through the remainder of your stay here; I regret that my tasks do not allow this. Doctor, has your Jack expelled the last fill yet?"

"Not yet," the Doctor says, smirking as Jack makes a tiny, disbelieving noise. He was _meant_ to have done -?

"Is he not in discomfort?" asks a new voice; Nurse Shua, Jack presumes.

"He told me. _Not_ to," Jack whines.

"Hush, Captain," the Doctor orders with a smile; his fingers card through Jack's hair but he is still thrusting slowly against Jack's belly and he is so hard and full inside he feels the strain absolutely everywhere. "Of course he is. I'm going to force it out of him. But he will, of course, hold it as long as I ask him to." The unquestioning faith in his voice is balm to Jack's soul. He relaxes under his lover's touch, and holds it in.

"So you said," Nurse Husa says. Had it been some sort of demonstration? "So I observe. At your convenience, then, Doctor."

With a dark, beautiful little chuckle, the Doctor waves his hand over Jack's body. "Please," he invites, "don't let me stop you examining him."

As tentacles crawl over him, palpating his belly curiously, Jack finds his world narrowing to shallow gasps and a determined focus on his aching, shifting, quivering stomach. “Doctor -!” he begs.

“Not yet,” the Doctor insists. “You’re doing very well.” To someone else entirely, he murmurs, “If you wouldn’t mind? On my mark.” Then his hand closes cool and tight around the cock Jack hadn’t even realised was hard and aching for touch, thumb rubbing his own slick all around the head, sliding his foreskin back to expose more and more nerve endings which he attacks likewise in a widening spiral of overwhelming sensation. Howling breathlessly as his body tries to tense in preparation for the orgasm that was apparently lurking just under the surface, Jack fights it with everything in him, fights a losing battle to the sound of the Doctor’s encouraging praise -

Then the hand speeds up, the cock thrusts a little harder against his belly, the voice, the only voice that matters, says, _not to Jack_ , “Go ahead” - and a tentacle forces its way into his arse, the last awful, brilliant straw. 

Jack grunts in shock as the orgasm hits, feels the sweep of it with a stretched inevitability: muscles tighten in his groin to begin pumping the ejaculate, in his arse to no effect whatsoever; in his lower belly with a tearing pain and thence upward in a growing wave, impossible to resist. His stomach, finally, tenses with a strength he can’t stop and Jack is still riding the climax as his throat fills from the wrong direction and it all spills out in retching coughs on the bed, what feels like gallons of it, warm and slimy and thick in an upsettingly cohesive way, stomach spasming with increasing force to expel the last remnants as it returns to its preferred shape and size. Somehow it all blends together in his mind and the wretched waves pouring from his mouth begin to conflate with the spatters of come from his cock into a kind of full-body experience of ejaculation Jack can’t even begin to process yet.

Curled forward as much as he can, which isn’t much, Jack lays still as the mess soaks into the bed, face covered in tears and snot and slime. The tentacle is sliding with a slick ease through his intestines. The Doctor is just letting go Jack’s cock to grasp his own; he groans as he brings himself off over Jack’s immense belly. Jack wonders if he can sleep now.

Cool lips press against his forehead, a hand smooths back sweat-soaked hair. “That was… Captain, you continue to exceed my wildest expectations,” the Doctor says quietly, voice full of wonder. “Was that good?”

“Hrrmmnghrr,” Jack mumbles, utterly spent.

“Well. Good. I think,” his lover says, laughter in his voice. “It was spectacular, certainly.” Jack’s eyes, somehow not willing to stay either open or closed, open again to see the Doctor examining the goo recently filling his stomach. He slides his fingers through it, raises his hand to see, then absently wipes it on Jack’s chest, painting lines that quickly become tacky. “You need a shower, Captain.”

“Hmmfd,” Jack says, meaning approximately _whose fault is that_ ; he closes his eyes again in rejection of the idea of moving.

“Once he is emptied, a shower will be available,” Nurse Husa says. “Or a bath. He is unlikely to be capable of standing for long.” Jack feels unlikely to be capable of standing at all, ever again. He will just be this heavy lump of belly, filled and fucked at the Doctor’s pleasure, and never mind having to do or move or think. It would be brilliant.

“You mustn’t leave him empty for long,” the Doctor cautions. “As you noticed, he is very resilient. Leave it long, and all the effects of stretching him will disappear.” Jack can’t decide if this is true or if the Doctor is trying to make sure Jack does not have to endure emptiness any more than absolutely necessary. Maybe both. In any case, he is well cared for.

“There is meant to be a period of rest after emptying,” Nurse Shua says fretfully. “The stretching process is very physically taxing.”

“Let him rest now,” the Doctor suggests, “or after you fill him again. Either will be fine for him, but a break in between will result in unnecessary pain.”

There is a silence; Jack supposes the two nurses to be consulting, which perhaps answers his question about their names. The Doctor smiles at him and strokes his head with tender care. A relaxing warmth spreads below his hand and Jack lets himself drift away.

When he wakes, he is being hauled upright by means of a number of tentacles carefully wrapped around his upper body. He snuffles curiously as the Doctor pushes his knees into a wide stance; the tentacles lower him back to his heels, belly resting on his thighs, back arched, head supported by another springy coil of tentacle. His arms are folded over his chest, comfortably restrained inside the coils of tentacle supporting him.

"Captain," the Doctor says, and kisses him. His face seems to have been cleaned, to a first approximation. Jack gives his lover a sleepy smile which he seems to find charming; then he groans as a cramping sort of shift ripples through the boulder residing in his abdominal cavity. "Yes, your guts are starting to work again. We're going to empty you out now, but you don't have to do anything at all, alright? Absolutely none of this is going to be under your control, no matter what you do, so you needn't try. I'll take care of you."

Jack hums happily and closes his eyes; that all sounds brilliant to him. Hands explore the contours of his belly, settled now by gravity into something more insistent, more weighty. It's easier to breathe now, and his ribs don't hurt so much. His pelvis aches with a deep, throbbing pain though, and his spine - well, he is very glad for the tentacles holding him up. Jack groans again as everything cramps tighter.

"I will begin now," Nurse Husa says. "Please relax."

Jack is not stupid - he has learned what _that_ means. He takes a breath, relaxes - and then it all comes back out in a long, wordless exclamation as a tentacle shoves into his arse in a rippling flow, stretching his sphincters again, sliding and bunching and pushing in, and in, and in. It feels different in his new position, or maybe it _is_ different - feels more like pulsing, pushing, forcing its way through. Jack finds himself trying to rock forward and back as if to impale himself more fully, as if the tentacle were actually fucking him. But every push, every twitch of his hips just takes more of it into him and Jack moans in pain and delight as he feels it push further and further. When at last it goes as far as it can, Jack strains forward, hoping to feel it pulling out; what he gets is far more than he was expecting.

There is a deep push that sets off a wave of cramping; an indescribable _twist_ ; and then there is a frictionless sense of movement and a wave of breathtaking relief creeps slowly through him, feeling so incandescently _right_ after the intense stretching that Jack is launched straight into euphoria, every muscle falling slack, eyes staring unseeing.

He is only vaguely aware of the Doctor’s voice. “Oh, that is… well. Why that should look any stranger than anything else here, I don’t know… The inner bit is coming out first, Captain, the solidified fill part. Very sensible, of course, very sensible to take it in stages…” He leans his head against Jack’s right shoulder, right hand massaging his ever-so-slowly deflating belly gently. “You look…” He doesn’t finish, but kisses Jack tenderly. Jack manages a brief, blissed moan for him.

Finally the relief makes it around to the end: his inner sphincter clenches in reaction, wringing a groan from him, and then the last little bit slips out all at once, leaving him loose and sloppy and utterly unable to do anything about it. He has forgotten how to tense those muscles.

The Doctor’s hand circles on his belly, around and around in a slow clockwise press. “How does the rest of the tentacle come out?” he asks. “Not by pulling?”

“Not at all,” says Nurse Shua, who seems to be the owner of the tentacles supporting Jack. “In a minute or two the fill in the small intestine will proceed enough to push it. The tentacle has been made to produce a fresh layer of lubrication and should slide easily once started.”

Cool fingers slide down Jack’s arched spine, over the curve of his arse, between his cheeks to probe at the base of the tentacle. He gasps at the feel of movement against nerves so long denied, jerks helplessly as the Doctor slides two fingers between the deflated tentacle and Jack’s loose rim. Another finger slips in easily and the Doctor moans. “So loose, Captain. Bet I could fit my entire arm inside you now -”

Jack is saved the effort of determining whether that is something he would like to try by a growing cramp inside and then the Doctor’s hand comes around in its endless circle, presses right over the cramp and suddenly everything inside him is moving, sliding, setting every nerve ending afire. Finally, _finally_ , something is sliding through his hole again, scratching that terrible itch for sensation, that need unsatisfied by the unmoving pressure of the last who knows how many hours; he simply has to trust it's not his guts escaping. His hips are thrusting, a desperate whining rising from his throat, and _none_ of it has any effect on _anything_. He is entirely at the mercy of forces beyond his control, and it is glorious.

After the initial shock of movement, it feels like nothing so much as a mindblowingly satisfying shit - which is not something he usually does in company, but he is much too far gone to care. He cares when it stops, though. “Unh,” Jack protests, bucking desperately, bearing down, trying to fight away whatever the problem is. “Help,” he begs. The Doctor laughs, and Jack sobs as he feels the tentacle push _back up into him_. “No, no -”

“Change your tune quickly, don’t you, Captain?” His Time Lord is smirking, but he doesn’t have the dangerous look in his eyes so Jack tries to calm himself and wait. He can’t quite stop pushing but the Doctor doesn’t seem to mind. “Not so long ago you didn’t want to be empty. Now you’re begging for it.” His hand never stops massaging Jack’s belly, which is considerably smaller now than its maximum girth and noticeably less taut. The pressure is building again, with the pipeline paused. Jack attempts a pitiful whine. “You’re lucky I find you irresistible,” the Doctor whispers, letting go the tentacle at the same time he presses hard on Jack’s belly.

Eyes rolling back in his head, Jack yells and writhes as the tentacle exits him with appalling speed, followed by spasm after spasm as his guts attempt to void litres of gelatinous fill all at once. The sound of it coming out is something he hopes he can forget, someday; the feel of it spurting out of him, covering his feet, splashing back up to coat his arse in warm, clumpy slime as his belly deflates, he knows he never will. He has no idea whether that was an orgasm, whether he came or not - like the last one he is left with the disconcerting impression of a full-body ejaculation, albeit in a different and even more disturbing way. Whatever it was, he is exhausted in its aftermath.

Limp and loose, Jack tries to catch his breath as the tentacles raise him up, lay him down on a clean part of the bed - on his back, which isn’t so bad now although it feels risky at first. His guts are still cramping and voiding more every few seconds, but if no one else cares about the mess he certainly doesn’t.

“Is respiration unobstructed?” Nurse Shua asks as the tentacles carefully unwind.

“Yeah,” Jack manages. “Thanks.”

“I am known for holding very carefully,” Nurse Shua assures him. Jack smiles, and rests.


	5. Refill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is cleaned up and taken care of and introduced to his eggs, and the Doctor makes friends with the new nurse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: deep fisting, tentacles as gag and restraints as well as the usual, device bondage, orgasm denial, more inflation, I forget what the kink is called where you don't let someone piss until they can't hold it anymore but that one snuck in here too. Edit: omorashi it is. Thanks!

Jack's guts are still cramping with some regularity when the Doctor pokes his head around a doorframe and asks, "Do you think you might be able to walk?"

Jack considers the question carefully. "I might," he agrees. If he really, really had to. The Doctor grins and the rest of him appears, incongruously stripped to pants and vest. Somehow he looks more naked like that than Jack feels with a tentacle up his arse. He would rather like the tentacle returned to his arse, actually.

No, next it's eggs.

His stomach fails to tighten in excitement, but perhaps the Doctor notices something, because his hands are reaching for the wrecked expanse of Jack's belly again. Empty, it is apparently nearly as fascinating as it was full; he takes great handfuls of the stretched skin, kneading it about, pulls at it to make a smooth area to palpate and feel things moving easily inside. It isn't what Jack would call _comfortable_ , but it is… enjoyable, in an odd way.

Eyes flickering dark and intent over Jack's supine body, the Doctor wets his lips. "Could you… I'd like…" Grinning at his hesitance, Jack does his best to spread his legs invitingly, as wide as he can without functioning abdominal muscles. "Oh - _yes_ \- oh, Captain -" Kneeling eagerly between his legs, the Doctor folds his knees up toward his chest, groans hungrily at the sight of Jack's sloppy, gaping hole. "Can I touch? Can I feel inside? Will it hurt you?"

"Go ahead. I'll let you know if it feels bad," Jack says, enjoying the ability to make full sentences again even if his throat is a bit raspy and his ribcage still aches. A hand strokes his arse, fingertips tugging gently at his rim until he relaxes what tension he has managed to reacquire there, then hooking just inside. Jack moans quietly, letting himself get lost in the friction on achingly sensitive skin, the uncompromising vulnerability of being so open. He can feel cool air inside him. The fingers slide a little deeper and Jack moans a little louder.

"Still good?" the Doctor checks. He pushes Jack's legs up further and Jack helpfully latches his hands behind his knees to hold them out of the way. The way the Doctor looks at him then, wonder and possessive joy in his eyes, sets every inch of his skin alight with longing to be touched, to be claimed.

"So good," Jack promises. "More?" The Doctor nods, eyes devouring as they move over Jack’s body. He must be, Jack realises with a shiver of delight at the sensation, rubbing his entire palm over Jack's rim, the whole of his hand inside without the slightest difficulty. The idea of him stroking Jack's _insides_ just as casually as he strokes Jack's cheek, his shoulder, is thrilling. "More," Jack demands, suddenly impatient.

“Alright,” his lover whispers, beginning to push forward again. “Tell me if it’s too much.” The widest part of his hand enters as easily as fingers usually do. The growing flush on his face is beautiful, the way each breath catches in his throat fascinating; even without the very welcome feeling of being filled again Jack could watch the Doctor like this for years and never tire of it. " _Jack_ ," he moans, a quiet, devastated little noise; he is feeling around inside now, delicate probing touches, mapping out an internal geography laid open to his touch as never before. His knuckles bump against Jack's prostate with a regularity that must be intentional, and soon Jack's cock is making a slick puddle on his stomach to add to all the rest of the ridiculous mess.

"More, please," Jack begs, hoping to lend him courage to try what he wants to. There will never be a better time than this, stretched and lubricated all the way through. "You can go deeper."

"Can I?" he says, but it's not a request for permission anymore so much as an existential question that needs answering. Those questing fingertips probe carefully at Jack's inner sphincter, then slide through easily - then everything is widening, stretching again, opening up around the Doctor's hand in incremental shudders - 

“Jack, Jack, oh, Jack -” the Doctor breathes, gaze fixed to where his arm disappears into the welcoming heat of Jack’s body. “You’re so… so soft, so…” He moans, the flush that already covered his face and neck darkening as the widest part of his hand pushes through; Jack can feel the solid bulk of it fully inside his intestines now. “I can feel - it’s like - waves of contractions, pushing at me - like you’re hugging my hand, Jack -”

He flexes his hand or wriggles his fingers or _something_ \- Jack can feel the movement, something writhing in his gut, strange and different even after having tentacles sliding through him. “Ah - ah!” He bucks, cock jumping against his belly. “Ah!”

The movement stops, and Jack groans, disappointed. “Alright, Jack?” the Doctor asks, fearful eyes flying up to meet Jack’s.

“Do that,” Jack insists. “Do that _again_. More.” The Doctor’s lips quirk, and his hand moves, and Jack grunts and jerks in reaction again. “Yessss.”

“If I -” Movement again, and then a swelling, growing feeling. Jack moans as his guts cramp, trying to push the intrusion out. “If I make a fist?”

Words are becoming more difficult, but Jack urges him on. “Yes, more, _deeper!_ ”

“Alright. Relax, Captain, relax, let me.” His other hand rubs the back of Jack’s right thigh, soothing the tension with a firm pressure. Jack sighs and lets his eyes close, doing his best to lie back and take it when his body wants to react to every new stimulus. The hand inside him slides deeper, and deeper, fitting itself to the curves inside. He is starting to feel the stretch at his hole now, halfway up the Doctor’s forearm or better, Jack doesn’t know. All he knows is that he is empty inside, and something huge is seeping in to fill him. He whines, wordless now, and tosses his head, and when the hand flexes and moves again, jostling his kidney, nearly knocking at his ribcage, Jack writhes and the whine turns into a wailing cry and cramping pain falls down on him like a brick wall as he comes.

As much as he had wanted it before, Jack is intensely grateful when the arm inside him begins to retreat. Right now, that’s all he can take.

Careful hands lower his knees, strong arms gather him against a cool, familiar chest. “Thank you,” his love whispers, “thank you, Jack, come on, let’s get you cleaned off.” He is lifted, taken from the bed where so much has been done to him, and this time, Jack has no difficulty lying back and taking it.

In the bath, Jack reclines in a shifting net of tentacles as the Doctor washes him. He feels like a ragdoll, lying limp in the confident grasp of something much larger. “You are the friendliest tentacle monster I’ve ever met,” he mumbles, amused, as his limbs are moved and rearranged, his head tilted back and forth; a thin tentacle coils ticklish between the toes of his left foot, another one spirals around his exhausted cock, examines the shape of his balls with surpassing care. “You're just in this for the cuddles, aren't you.”

Slightly more of Nurse Shua’s bulbous body emerges from the water, delicately shaded in purples, blues, and browns, as it seems to consider Jack’s words. A tentacle nudges at Jack’s right hand and he strokes it gently. “I delight in touch,” the nurse agrees, “and prefer my touch to bring delight. Please tell me if I touch you in a way that distresses you."

"I love this," Jack says as his head is tilted back for the Doctor's fingers to work soap through his hair. "Being held. Being played with. But anything is fine. Whatever the Doctor says is alright."

“Anything you like,” the Doctor murmurs, kissing his forehead. Eyes closed, Jack smiles what he suspects is a completely blitzed smile and shudders happily under the fingertips caressing him. “Please feel free to touch, Nurse Shua. He particularly enjoys feeling restrained.” The tentacles supporting Jack’s arms cinch tighter and the Doctor laughs as Jack goes, if possible, even more limp. "Just like that."

A tentacle curls around Jack's right ankle, creeps up his leg in a tight spiral. "Would more restraint render the egg insertion process more pleasurable?"

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Jack moans, back arching eagerly at the thought.

"That sounds like a _yes_ to me," the Doctor agrees as he takes advantage of Jack's movement to tip his head back even further and rinse his hair. "You really are shameless, Captain."

Rolling his eyes seems like too much work, so Jack just sighs contentedly. "Says the man who was elbow deep in me not ten minutes ago."

"It wasn't quite _that_ far, really -" Jack cracks an eyelid to peer at his lover, who blushes and doesn't meet his eye. "But fairly close," he admits.

“Don’t know why you’re embarrassed,” Jack mutters as Nurse Shua turns him over carefully, folding his legs experimentally, “you’re not the one who -” He breaks off into a surprised whimper as the hands on his back move down to his arse, thumbs slipping inside him to pull his hole open wide. Warm water rushes in and Jack squirms, whining, held immobile there, a plaything at the whim of his merciless lover and a tentacle monster happy to touch him in every way possible.

“Shall I examine him for any damage?” Nurse Shua offers, rather eagerly.

“Yes,” the Doctor says; Jack can hear the laughter in his voice. “Please do.”

"Yes," Jack echoes unnecessarily, "please - oh, _yeah_ -” A soft, thick tentacle pushes in between the Doctor's thumbs to stroke his inner walls - probably to re-coat them in lubrication, but it feels much too good for Jack to care whether there is a practical excuse behind the action. He whines again as his prostate comes under attention and the stroking gets a little firmer, for far too short a time. The tentacle around his cock is getting tighter - or no, that’s his fault. Jack rocks his hips forward fruitlessly, because there’s nothing to push against, and then the tentacle in his arse squeezes in again, comfortably thick and squishy and soft. More like oozing than sliding this time, seeping in to fill him without limit, very different than any of Nurse Husa’s tentacles had felt; both undeniably violating and intensely arousing.

Jack strains against his bonds, wordless cries escaping half-voiced as he is filled again, slow and steady like the most comfortable and unstoppable enema Jack could ever imagine. The Doctor’s hands are on his belly again, pressing gently to feel the inflation beneath his touch, making sure Jack retains a very clear understanding of the tentacle’s progress through his empty insides.

Concerned by his struggles, Nurse Shua asks, “Am I holding too tight?”

“Not at all,” the Doctor replies reassuringly. “He likes restraint _because_ he can fight it and lose. He doesn’t have to control the situation; he doesn’t even have to control himself. With lives like ours, an opportunity to lose control is… necessary. And valued, and rare.”

“I am honoured to assist,” Nurse Shua says quietly; the tentacles don’t loosen. “Would he enjoy -”

“Very much,” the Doctor says. Jack moans encouragingly, still vaguely following the conversation if not at all up to participating. The tentacle holding his head safely above water shifts and then something is stroking his lips, not pushing, just offering. Jack opens his mouth without opening his eyes and feels another soft tentacle ooze in, stretching his lips with gentle pressure, moulding itself around his teeth, pressing his tongue down as it forces his jaw open wider and wider. Relaxing into it as much as he can, Jack moans in ecstacy as he is filled here, too, stretched and invaded and utterly helpless against the intrusion. The slow pulse of the tentacle against his soft palate is almost enough to make him forget his bloating belly, beginning to cramp now with increasing enthusiasm. “Shh, shh,” the Doctor soothes, rubbing Jack’s lower back again in firm circles. “You’re alright, Captain. No damage?”

“No damage,” Nurse Shua agrees. “But you are correct that the stretching effects are already decreasing.”

“Yes. Well, best move along then. On to the eggs. Why don’t you leave that one, if you can?” Jack shudders and moans, but no one seems interested in getting him off again yet. The tentacle in his arse deflates and withdraws, its squishiness turning obscene as it squeezes out despite his clenching around it, and the one in his mouth stays right where it is, gagging him quite effectively, and no matter how he whines and thrusts he can’t seem to convince anyone to do anything with his cock. “Behave, Captain,” the Doctor growls in his ear as he is hauled from the bath, dripping water and an assortment of other fluids. “Good things come to those who wait.”

If his mouth were free Jack would point out that that maxim is right up there with _perfectly safe_ in the list of things the Doctor has no right to say, but it's not so he just moans in disappointment and anticipation and tries very hard to behave. Sort of hard. A little bit, anyway.

Jack finds himself in very short order dried and returned to his room and deposited in a comfortable sort of cradle on his elbows and knees, arse bare and open, mouth still gagged, another tentacle comfortingly looped around his right wrist. His knees rest on something soft and supportive, his chest likewise, his elbows raised to keep his back level; his thighs press against a padded bar that keeps him from moving forward at all. His wrecked, loose belly dangles freely, just barely brushing a sling beneath that Jack suspects will be well placed all too soon. The Doctor kneels at his side, eschewing the low, reclining chair to Jack’s left clearly set there for his use, dressed in shirt and trousers, hands once again occupied with his belly.

"I can feel everything shifting around in there," the Doctor says, fascinated. "Can you?"

Jack groans in discomfort and disbelief. His jaw hurts from being spread so wide but the oddness of being filled at the front and open to the air at the back has him hard enough to pound nails and if someone would just touch him, just a little -

"Well, of course, of course you can feel it, but is it more of a sense of overall movement? Or can you actually feel your intestines coiling and sliding around?"

"Uh," Jack replies, only with less articulation, and tries unsuccessfully to wriggle his hips so his cock touches the Doctor's hands.

The Doctor smacks his arse and Jack yelps. "I don't think so, Captain. I find the contrast aesthetically pleasing. Perhaps when your belly is that hard I will consider letting your cock be soft."

This makes Jack, if possible, even harder, which bodes ill for his belly.

Then again, he will shortly be pumped full of alien eggs and goo and left to incubate for days, so his belly was hardly going to come out of this unscathed anyway.

Jack moans again, in an inquiring sort of way, and the Doctor sighs. “As amusing as your attempts to communicate like this are, and as salutary as the effects seem to be on your anatomy, I think the gag has served its purpose. Nurse Shua, if you wouldn’t mind…?”

“Of course, Doctor.” The tentacle around Jack’s wrist pulses gently, and then the one in his mouth does too and slowly retreats, letting his jaw close incrementally as it goes, caressing his tongue and finally sliding slick and warm against his lips. Head turned to the side and resting on the bolster there for the purpose, Jack nuzzles into the tentacle, tries to move so he can reclaim the firm tip of it between his lips but it evades him. Jack contents himself with licking at it as it rests pressed to the corner of his mouth.

When Jack looks up the Doctor is staring at his mouth, palming his own cock through his trousers. He clears his throat and the Time Lord startles. “Turns out it's no trouble at all watching other people touch me?”

“No trouble,” the Doctor agrees, with a charming blush.

“The Doctor and Jack, I am ready to begin the next step,” Nurse Shua says. “Jack, I would like to know if your proxy form is still in effect.”

Surprised, Jack cranes his head around as best he can to look at the nurse’s main body. “Absolutely. The Doctor is in charge.”

“There will be significant discomfort with the insertion.”

And Nurse Shua does not like to cause distress. “You’re a sweetheart,” Jack says, licking the tentacle by his mouth again. He suspects the soothing moisture it secretes is the local substitute for ice chips. “But that’s the point. And I want to be able to whine and cry and kick and scream without worrying anyone will pay attention to it. Alright?”

The nurse pauses, all its constant motion falling still, then says reluctantly, “I do not like to cast doubt on others’ competence, but these eggs are very large.” A tentacle unwinds toward Jack, finally revealing its prize: a faintly purple sphere almost the size of the Doctor's clenched fist.

“ _Jack -_ ” the Doctor says, but he cuts himself off at the eager whine that escapes Jack. He frowns. “How many of these?”

“Nine.”

“Fuck,” Jack breathes, a stray brush of wind away from coming at the thought. He is going to be weighed down like a stone, stretched to bursting. “What are you waiting for?”

The Doctor grasps his chin, twists his head to meet his eyes with severe intent. “You’ll tell me how it feels, and you’ll keep telling me. You’ve recovered more from the stretching than they expect. It’s going to hurt.”

“Yes, good, I’ll tell you,” Jack promises eagerly. “I’m ready, _please_. No, hold on, I want the camera."

Rolling his eyes, the Doctor sighs and gives up. "He'll be alright, Nurse Shua, I promise. He really is very resilient. Stubborn as anything…"

Along with the display and camera, the Doctor fetches a second stand to which he affixes the camera, giving Jack an excellent view of his own back end without anyone having to waste an appendage holding it. Jack looks properly debauched here as well; experimentally he tries clenching a couple times and is amused to find that his hole does not fully close no matter what he does. The Doctor’s hands are below him, sloshing him about again - “I can’t see my belly,” Jack complains.

The eye roll this time is over a fond grin. “Yes, alright. Things are much easier when you’re gagged.” The view on the display shifts slowly to the side until Jack can see both areas of interest well enough.

Jack swallows nervously as a shiver runs down his spine. He remembers how he looked lying on the bed, fully stuffed. Even as stretched and low-hanging as his belly is right now, it is nowhere close to that immense roundness - and it had taken half the day to get him to that condition. “How does this… work?”

A tentacle climbs up the back of his thigh, strokes his arse. “I will begin as before, by inserting a tentacle through the length of your large intestine. This tentacle will essentially paralyse your gut; after a few minutes you will feel no further cramping sensations. Then I will begin filling your small intestine to provide a cushion for the eggs and a reservoir of nutrients for your body to absorb over the next four days. Once you are full, I will retract the tentacle as I deposit the eggs, then plug you.”

It does sound… _intense_ , very intense, but Jack finds himself distracted by the muffled little moan the Doctor makes at the end of Nurse Shua’s explanation. He is biting his hand, face gone red again.

“This plug,” Jack says, feeling a smug smile taking over his face. “Will it be, ah, _penetrable_ like the last one?” His lover makes an indignant, hungry sound.

“It can be made so,” Nurse Shua agrees, tentacle crawling slowly along the cleft of Jack’s arse to startlingly delightful effect.

“That,” Jack gasps, helpless to resist pushing back against it, “feels very, _very_ good -” The tiny bumps and ridges of it provide just enough texture to set every nerve alight without detracting from the smooth drag of it in the slightest. It calls to mind both a firm scalp massage and a truly magnificent eating out, relaxing and arousing and comforting and absolutely more than Jack can handle right now without -

The tentacle lifts away and Jack’s desperate whines turn to frustrated sobs as he is denied orgasm again, this time from right at the brink. “I don’t want you to come yet, Captain,” the Doctor reminds him, fingers massaging his scalp with the intuition of a touch telepath. Jack turns his face away sulkily, but allows himself to be calmed.

Instead of watching the man holding his reins, Jack watches Nurse Shua and especially the tentacle swaying very close to his arse. “Do you wish me to restrain him now?” the nurse asks, the tips of a few tentacles twitching suggestively. Jack licks the one near his mouth again.

“I suppose… here?” the Doctor suggests, pointing to Jack’s thighs. A strong, firm tentacle coils around him in a figure-eight, lashing him to the padded bar that prevents him from thrusting forward - or trying to get away, Jack supposes - and now he can’t shift backward either, can move not at all as he is penetrated and inflated entirely at the whim of others. Heart pounding in his chest, Jack struggles to curb the very unwelcome panic rising in him until the Doctor pulls his head around and kisses him, hard and deep and absolutely in control. “I’m here, Captain,” he says, forehead pressed firmly against Jack’s, fingers tight in his hair. “You’re helpless but I’m here, and I won’t leave you for _anything_. Deep breaths.” Jack takes deep breaths, the last time he will be able to for days.

“I’m alright,” he says after a moment. “Thanks.”

The Doctor smiles. “Good. Wrists too, please, Nurse Shua. Not ankles, let him kick and scream if he wants. Are you ready, Jack?”

Eyes returned to the screen, Jack watches as the tentacle secretes a slimy glob of gut-paralysing lubrication and lines up behind his much abused hole, lewdly winking open and shut in anticipation. “Ready,” he says, and feels himself invaded without being able to offer the slightest hint of resistance.

Jack watches himself grunt and shudder as he feels the tentacle worm its way through his guts, further and further, prodding and probing with a firmness far removed from his most recent intrusion. The motion is clearly visible from the outside as well; his belly writhes and shakes in a rather disturbing way, what of it he can see between the Doctor’s hands. Despite the tentacle’s relative slenderness, the cramping begins almost at once and it is traveling fast enough that his entire abdomen is awash in pain before the paralysis begins to take effect. Gasping, Jack tries and fails to move away from the source of his torment; he succeeds only in making his belly swing below him and finds himself retching helplessly as the queasy feeling combines with the squirming nest of snakes inside him. He tries to claw at something, _anything_ , to try to pull himself away, but he is caught fast.

“Hurts,” he sobs. “Hurts, it hurts, make it stop _moving_ , please -”

“It’s alright,” the Doctor assures him, petting his back as his other hand mercifully stops the swinging. “Better soon. You’re doing so well, Captain, you struggle so beautifully.”

Jack whimpers quietly as the cramps pass, knowing the relief is very temporary. He watches the tentacle slowly begin to widen, pulsing as it begins to pump the nutrient solution that will fill him. There is a sharp pain that makes him cry out, and Nurse Shua says quickly, “My apologies. I have opened the sphincter to your small intestine, which is unused to opening from this direction. Please try to relax; the filling process will not be overly rapid. Cramping should be minimal.”

Between the relief of the worst of the pain, the strength of the tentacles holding him immobile, and the comfort of the Doctor’s hands stroking his back, his stretched and aching sides, his sloshing belly, Jack is soon reduced to docile moans as he feels the fullness inside him spread, and spread, and spread. Nurse Shua lets it trickle in slowly, so that as it works through his guts there is time for the paralysis to begin before a painful volume builds up. That only prevents Jack’s body from making it worse, though; it is in no way numbing or relaxing.

Very, very slowly Jack’s belly changes shape; first just a growing resistance to the Doctor’s manipulations, then a heavier drape. The Doctor has taken to pushing at the side of it periodically to make it swing queasily back and forth and as it fills the sway becomes heavier and more pronounced. “Doesn’t feel good, Doctor,” Jack whines the fourth or fifth time he does it, well into the filling process when Jack is starting to feel himself resting heavier on his knees. This time the slide and sway inside is accompanied by a sharpish pain low in his abdomen. “Something hurts.”

“Something hurts,” the Doctor repeats, hands immediately becoming gentler. He spreads his hands on Jack’s belly, prods carefully with his fingertips. “Where?”

“Lower,” Jack says, and, “lower,” until the Doctor has reached the top of his pelvis. When he pushes gently and Jack grunts, the Doctor chuckles and bends to kiss his back.

“It’s your bladder, Jack. You were empty long enough for it to start filling.”

“Can I -” Jack squirms, which just makes it worse again.

The Doctor laughs again and Jack remembers with a sinking feeling that he _likes_ Jack leaking uncontrollably. “Certainly not. You’re just going to have to let it out here. And no, I’m not going to help.”

“Sadistic bastard,” Jack mumbles, closing his eyes and trying to convince his body it’s not aroused with very little success. At some point, of course, it’s going to come out, hardon or not, and if he won’t let Jack go take care of it by himself - of course it’s not as though Jack can walk anywhere to do so. He is meant to piss himself right here, for the Doctor’s amusement.

The sadistic bastard in question pats his arse fondly. “There’s a thought. I suppose I might help a little. Nurse Shua, please increase the fill rate slightly.”

“No!” Jack cries, jerking and then groaning in pain at the movement again as the tentacle pulsing in his arse like some obscene umbilical grows slightly wider. “No, I’m sorry, please, that isn’t the help I wanted, just, please, _Doctor_ -”

None of his begging does any good, of course; none of his struggling avails him at all. There is no give in the tentacles holding him, and there never will be until the Doctor orders it; there is no pause in the slow stretch flowing into him, working the wrong way through his guts, and there is certainly no mercy to be had from his own kidneys. As the pain ramps up, the arousal eventually, inevitably begins to flag - but he _likes_ pain, likes being pushed to his limits, and it takes a very long time, especially with the Doctor watching him with that dark, hungry look that Jack can never get enough of, that makes him roll over and beg. When more minutes than Jack manages to keep track of crawl by and he still hasn’t been able to let it out but is panting and whimpering steadily in increasingly sharp discomfort, the Doctor reaches under the now distinctly rounded, swaying bulk of his belly, sets his fingertips carefully at the top of his pelvis, and _pushes_.

Jack wails as his body gives way and begins to drain, gasps in relief -

And then the Doctor’s hand cinches around his cock and his thumb clamps over his slit like a cutoff valve.

Body gone too tense to even manage a scream, Jack grunts desperately, muscles spasming, pushing, trying to clear the way to a release he needs more than breath now that it has begun.

Distantly, Jack hears Nurse Shua say, “The pressure is too high. You will do him an injury, Doctor,” and then the hand is gone and Jack sobs helplessly as liquid pain sprays out of him, splashing his legs and belly, soaking the Doctor’s cruel hand. Jack’s slow collapse into relief seems to know no limit; soon he has become only a loosely connected pile of bone and sinew and overworked flesh surrounding the waters inside, held up by the cradle he rests in and nothing else. Every new thing makes it harder for Jack to remember that he has ever been anything more than this organic hydraulics system, a complicated receptacle whose tubes and valves and tanks work to purposes not his own, skillfully manipulated by others. Eyes closed, he licks the tentacle that bumps at his lips and feels himself grow fuller, and rounder, and heavier, and more still.

"It hurts him," the Doctor says quietly, hands dried and returned to petting Jack's back and belly in long strokes, "but after the pain… there's this."


	6. Eggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack finally gets his eggs, after the Doctor has some more fun with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: belly inflation, consent play, reluctant emetophilia, egg insertion, more pain, and a telepathic top. Also definitely my favourite dialogue in the story.

After some timeless interval, when Jack's belly has settled into the sling beneath him and the Doctor's hands can no longer set him sloshing about at will, when the pain has settled into a comfortable, overwhelming ache, when Jack still feels unstrung but no longer unhinged, Nurse Shua suggests, “I might stretch him again, Doctor. To reduce pain and the possibility of damage with the eggs.”

Without otherwise moving at all, Jack opens his eyes, and thus is treated to a somewhat bleary view of the meltingly tender expression the Doctor turns on him as he strokes the ever-expanding circumference of Jack’s belly. “Yes, please,” his lover agrees. “He wants to be pushed to his limits, but… the way we reach them is up to me. I strongly prefer to avoid hurting him unnecessarily.”

Nurse Shua does so with such subtlety Jack suspects he would not have noticed the increased girth for quite some time were he not watching on the display. Very slowly, the tentacle develops a bulge where it enters him; Jack feels no sense of increased intrusion, no inclination to tense around it, but at some point he begins to feel the ring of muscle stretching and he wishes for the friction of movement to go along with it. Without particularly intending to, he attempts to shift backward, lets out a disappointed sigh when it doesn’t work.

The Doctor’s fingers card gently through his hair. “We’re stretching you a bit, Jack, that’s all. Get you ready for those eggs you’re so eager to be filled with.”

“Mm,” Jack says, feeling detached and floaty as he watches the show. The Doctor’s eyes are still soft, and the tentacle in his arse keeps expanding, and Jack can’t see his cock but he can feel it beginning to harden again. His belly is so distended now that his cock presses up against the firm curve of it, an unexpected point of highly-charged contact. The tentacle pulses and Jack moans as the bulge expands inwards, filling his rectum in an intensely pleasing way, stretching his inner sphincter as well, continuing in a leisurely wave around his stuffed abdomen that is nonetheless a much more abrupt change of volume than he has been subjected to over the last however long. He half expects it to keep going, somehow, scour his insides like the high pressure hose he can't help but compare it to; but it doesn't, of course. Just opens him up wide, ready to be stuffed.

“Feels good?” the Doctor asks as Jack groans.

“Yeah. Very good. Want more.” Even if he doesn’t think he can possibly fit anything else.

“Of course you do.” He sounds amused. “One of your defining character traits, isn’t it.”

“Want you,” Jack points out.

The Doctor chuckles, fingers drifting in light caresses that send little shivering cascades of sensation through Jack. “Frequently,” he agrees, as his thumb slides across Jack’s lips and then moves over to the tentacle keeping Jack company which he also strokes gently. “Or are you saying… I’m more?”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, happy to be understood. The kiss he gets for that is sublime, and goes on long enough that he can only tell up from down by the insistent pull of his belly toward the latter. The pressure inside is becoming dire now, though, and the stretch in his arse has reached painful proportions, and to Jack's disappointment the pained whimper he makes around the Doctor's tongue signals the end of his kiss. “I’m going to pop,” he says sadly.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so.” Moving away, the Doctor returns to examining Jack’s belly with firm hands and more squeezing than a fruit market. Between the moments of vision-fogging discomfort Jack watches the display with interest, and not just to see if he pops; the tentacle in his arse is swollen to impressive size and with the thick wrap of tentacle about his thighs and the ones coiling over his arms he makes an amazing picture. He licks the tentacle by his mouth again and watches the part of it he can see pulse and slide across his shoulder. “Captain,” the Doctor says with amused reproach. “I’ve gone to all this trouble to tie you up and you’ve still found a way to play with yourself.”

“Good looking guy,” Jack points out.

“Do something about that mouth, Nurse Shua, please?” the Doctor instructs, and Jack finds his mouth abruptly full of tentacle again. “He is beautiful, though, isn’t he. Just a bit -” The Doctor dissolves into sniggering laughter. “One often says _full of himself_ about that sort, but that isn’t what he’s full of at all, is it?”

Jack sucks on the tentacle and kicks his feet indignantly.

“Your Jack is very beautiful,” Nurse Shua agrees. “I believe he is nearly filled to capacity.”

"Is he? I was hoping -" Shifting around again to get a better rear view, the Doctor's breath catches. "Oh, my. Oh, Captain, this is… beyond my wildest dreams, truly. I hope it is fulfilling yours." Jack moans softly, mollified. His lover’s hand slides along the valley where Jack’s ribs end and the overrisen roundness of his belly begins with tangible reverence, up to his spine and down over the curve of Jack's arse where the skin is stretched taut around the tentacle at the source of all the distortions to his contours. It isn't so much thicker than the one Jack had been plugged with earlier but he has to admit the effect is quite different when he can see the thing sticking out of him, forearm-thick and pulsing and leading in short order to a bona fide tentacle monster who is holding him very firmly captive. The Doctor's point of view is probably even better.

But Jack undeniably has the best _experience_ of it.

A new sensation begins then - _not_ a new sensation, a very, very familiar sensation, and not one Jack wants. He moans again, pushes at the tentacle filling his mouth with his tongue, but the Doctor is not paying attention. His fingers are slipping along Jack's stretched rim and any other time, _any other time_ Jack would love it, would beg for more - he can feel the dribble of slick sliding down his belly from his throbbing cock in fact, but -

Jack moans more urgently, strains against the tentacles holding his arms, swings his shoulders side to side as best he can, and finally catches the Doctor's attention.

"Jack? What - let him speak, please -"

The tentacle is gone from his mouth as quickly as it came and Jack gasps, "It's in my stomach!"

Terrifyingly, the Doctor smiles. "Oh, good, I was hoping it could get that far."

Now that the stuff has forced its way in, it isn't stopping. Jack can feel his stomach filling with sick-making rapidity. "It's not good! I can't -" He swallows, then cranes his head around to look his Time Lord in the eye. He wanted to be rendered mindless, not forced to _think_ about his fullness with every breath. "It's almost full already, I can't spend four days holding it in, Doctor, I _can't, please_ -!" It is already trying to escape up his throat, too much inside him.

"Oh, no, I don't want you to hold it." That hungry smile is lurking again, that darkness looking out at Jack from behind his eyes as he pats Jack's belly in a very unreassuring and unhelpful way. His hand slides down and then his fingers are closing around Jack's cock, thumb stroking his weeping slit. Jack mewls in surprise, eyes going wide as he understands the Doctor’s plan. He loves that the Doctor has kinks, but this one is far from his favourite to indulge. He had hoped once was enough. "I want you to come now, Captain."

"No, please, _please_ , Doctor -"

But he has no mercy, stroking Jack with a calm confidence, pushing him inexorably toward a release that is everything he wants and everything he hates. The other hand grasps his chin, turns his head forward, then slides down to massage his throat. Jack coughs and swallows and tries to protest, but none of it gets him anywhere and soon he is shaking, tears streaming down his face as his stomach fills to bursting with a churning pressure. 

His balls tighten. 

His chest tightens, and Jack whimpers in helpless anticipation.

Fingers cupping his throat, the Doctor leans down to whisper in his ear. "I want this, Captain, and I'm going to make you want it too. You can't fight it. Come for me, Jack."

His abused, distended belly tightens as the command tips him over into a shattering orgasm, and as the come fills his cock in hot pulses the slime in his belly fills his throat in heaving spurts, pouring from his mouth sweet and thick and warm. There is a terrible pleasure in it, the jaw-dropping relief, the way his mind is tricked into thinking all of it part of a climax that tears through every cell of him.

Maybe by the time they are done here he won't even think it's terrible anymore. Maybe he _will_ want it. Just another little mark the Doctor can leave on his constant, immortal Captain.

When his over-pressurised insides have finally reached equilibrium again, Jack lays still and spent, feeling even more like a wrung out dishrag than usual for either post-orgasm or post-emesis. A soothing rain of praise fills his ears as the Doctor’s hands sweep over him in long, gentle caresses; he bends to kiss Jack’s forehead once everything has passed. “I’m going to get you some water,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right back.” When he holds the cup to Jack’s lips he rinses and spits, figuring whatever the floor is made of can surely handle a little more; swallows painfully then spits again.

"I hate you," he croaks weakly. His ribs hurt again.

“No, you don’t,” the Doctor assures him. “You just wish you did, sometimes.” It’s an unfairly accurate diagnosis. “I did tell you I’d let you come when you were full enough.” 

“Didn’t think it was a _threat_.”

The Doctor graces him with a shrug and an artless smile. “Why ever not?”

Jack glares at his disgustingly cheerful lover for a long moment, then turns back to Nurse Shua’s companionable tentacle, nuzzles it pointedly, and changes the subject. “Eggs.”

“Momentarily. Does anything hurt? Anything in your stomach -”

“No!” Jack denies immediately, afraid he might be made to - to _do that_ again, if there were. It seems to be a true statement, to his relief. “Nothing, nothing left. No. Think I pulled something, though.” A new pain radiates down his right side with each breath, minor considering the scope of his current predicament.

Hands sliding smooth over his flanks, the Doctor searches for the culprit. “Here?” he asks. “Or here? Here,” as Jack twitches. His thumb massages gently, reassuring. “I won’t do anything to make it worse, Jack. Unless you think inserting the eggs will set you off?”

“Might do, but I want to anyway. Rest after.” Letting his eyelids droop, Jack subsides back into dishrag, most of his attention on the soothing feel of the Doctor’s hands and the quiet pulsing of the tentacle inside him. “‘m a good nest now, aren’t I?”

"You are, in every particular, an ideal nest," Nurse Shua assures him, tentacle stroking his face with a delicate care that makes Jack just as eager to please as that hunger in the Doctor's eyes ever has.

"Be the best nest you ever had," he promises hazily.

The Doctor laughs, but he also kisses Jack’s forehead again, very gently. “You might at least conduct your assignations when I’m not looking. It’s more traditional.”

“Assig - you think this - _ungh_ -" Jack's fingers curl around the resilient grips as the tentacle inside pulses and begins to deflate, starting from its extremity. "Who do you think - is getting assin - assignated, here?" His insides reclaim the space immediately, squishing back in in an elastic recoil that sweeps around his abdomen quickly enough to leave him briefly dizzy - and distinctly less full. The feeling of relief is intense enough to steal his breath and every conscious thought, for a moment. When he can breathe again, Jack mumbles, "Eggs now? Please?"

“It’s simply shocking, Captain,” the Doctor muses, without a hint of real shock, “the way you’ll take anything, anywhere, and beg shamelessly for more.” Head turned and resting on his bolster, Jack can’t look away from the glowing reverence on his lover’s face as he presses a hand carefully to Jack's belly, fingers spread wide to feel the slight give. The other slides over his hip, along the tentacle restraining his thighs, back up the inside to cup his balls with casual ownership.

“Please,” Jack begs again, but the Doctor shakes his head.

“Hush, Captain. You aren’t in control here.” Sinking deeper into docile acceptance, Jack moans as the fingers trail higher, sliding through the slickness around his stretched hole; it isn’t truly a surprise when they slip inside, but the feeling still provokes a cry and a constrained twitch of his hips. “You want more?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jack promises, breathless at the drag of skin on skin as the hand presses in.

The Doctor’s other hand leaves Jack’s belly to nudge his chin around front. “Watch, then,” he says; and then the hand inside him is gone and Jack watches an enormous bulge in the tentacle come to rest against the skin of his arse. Heart pounding in his chest, Jack strains ineffectually to push back against it, whining high and needy. It doesn’t feel like it should work - it _looks_ impossible - Jack had forgotten the egg would have to fit with the filling tentacle _around_ it - but still he wants it desperately, wants to feel it hard and huge inside him.

Very slowly, the bulge starts forward again, and as it shoves between his arse cheeks and begins stretching his hole Jack realises with a fresh burst of fear just how helpless he is here because it feels nothing like he had expected. It isn’t like trying to _insert_ something at all; he is already breached, already compromised, and because the egg is inside the tentacle holding him open there is no friction against his skin, nothing he can choose to either fight or welcome, just an irresistible expansion. In moments the stretch has reached the point of pain, the huge blunt swell of the egg forcing him open with a pressure he can do nothing at all about but endure. "Please," Jack chokes out as his hole stretches wider, as he resists tensing with every bit of willpower at his command; he isn’t sure what he is begging for.

“Watch,” the Doctor orders again. “Watch yourself take it for me, Jack.”

“Yes, Doctor,” he whispers, but focusing on the display doesn’t get him anything but a dissociated moment of sympathy for the poor sucker whose arse is getting so thoroughly reamed. Jack sobs as the egg pushes further and he remembers that it’s _him_. “Hurts,” he whimpers. A little more. “It hurts!”

“I know it does. But I want it inside you, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with it - or soon will be, anyway. It’s nearly in.” The way he makes it sound like _in_ is some kind of end state, rather than the first mile of a marathon, somehow just makes it all worse. Jack's hips are rocking uncontrollably in an effort to find some relief but it doesn't avail him against something anchored in his guts; all it does is set his belly in motion again and force his breath out in wretched, gasping little cries. 

“Can’t, I can’t -”

The Doctor's voice washes over him, soothing and in control. “You can, Captain. You can take this for me. You don’t need to control anything. Nurse Shua, can you hold him still?”

“Certainly,” the nurse replies, and then more tentacles are climbing his legs, his arms, to hold him tight and still and safe from his own struggles. Cool hands calm his belly, and the egg shifts again, and no matter what he does he cannot affect his situation in the slightest, now. With a sob of relief, Jack gives himself up to the forces taking him over.

"Almost there, Jack. Watch," the voice of command urges again softly; his hand is steady on Jack's aching belly, faint but real protection from the searing pain splitting him open.

When Jack pries his eyes open he sees first the Doctor knelt beside him, face flushed, trousers open, other hand working his cock with a quickness that betrays how close he is to climax; and _that_ is certainly something Jack likes to watch. But his attention is stolen almost immediately as the egg lodged in his impossibly stretched hole shifts again. Jack grunts, eyes flying to it, then as he watches it passes the midpoint and slips ponderously, irrevocably _inside_.

Jack keens helplessly as it fills him, stretches him, _keeps moving forward_.

The Doctor groans as his release paints Jack's belly. "Oh, _Jack_ \- You took that so well, Captain, so beautiful -" His thumb is rubbing the aftermaths of his enjoyment into Jack's taut and trembling skin.

"Not. Done. Yet," Jack manages to gasp, shaking as his inner sphincter is forced open as well. His body is trying to push the tight fullness in his rectum outwards but that just makes him easier to stuff. Kicking his feet, clawing at his handholds, throwing himself against his restraints gets him nowhere but he does it anyway because it _hurts_ and it won't stop and he can't stop it and he doesn't even want to, he wants -

He wants more. He has never been filled like this before.

"More," he rasps, wondering briefly what he has been doing to his throat. "More, please, more, please, more -" He chants it like a mantra as this obstacle is defeated as well and the cramping pain decreases slightly as the egg that feels like a bowling ball continues its slow journey through him.

The Doctor’s hands are on his ballooned abdomen again trying to feel its movement, but Jack is too full, his body made into a cushioning nest for the precious eggs. “Where is it?” he murmurs as he pushes and prods, and if he weren’t crying at the pain Jack would laugh at the madness of the question when he can feel its location like a flaming _you are here_ sign in his gut.

“Stop, please, stop, hurts -” Jack begs breathlessly.

Sitting back grudgingly, the Doctor pouts. “I wanted to feel it. _You_ can feel it.”

“Can have. Next one,” Jack offers, trying to catch his breath and only half joking.

Looking very alarmed, the Doctor covers his own belly protectively. “No, no, I don’t think that would work well, really.”

A tentacle slithers across Jack’s back, presses lightly on the left side just at the top edge of his pelvis, right above the obvious-to-Jack bulk of the egg. “It is here, Doctor.”

“Oh. Oh, my.” His hand, unhelpfully, traces the path it will be traversing. Jack whimpers. “What a lot of work you still have to do, Captain.”

The pain of the egg inside him is not what Jack expected, not sharp and stretching as it was going in but dull and dangerous feeling, a threat of imminent rupture that Jack simply has to trust will not happen. He is being monitored closely at all times by Nurse Shua, for damage and pressure and tensile strength of his tissues, but his mind won't stop the incessant screaming of _wrongness_. "More," he begs again, hoping to be distracted and overwhelmed. His voice shakes. "Please, more."

The Doctor's face is suddenly in his line of sight, worried eyes peering intently into his, fingers holding Jack's chin gently. "Is it bad?"

"Yes, Doctor," Jack whispers, too overwhelmed to consider dissembling.

"Did you like it going in?"

"Yes, Doctor," he says again, relieved to be understood.

Looking away briefly, the Doctor asks, “You’re certain it’s safe?”

“I am certain, Doctor,” comes Nurse Shua’s calm voice. “I am monitoring very closely.”

The Doctor smiles at him, a small, sad, beautiful quirk of lips. "Alright. We've got all the _more_ you can take, Captain, don't worry." As the next egg begins opening him up, Jack's whole body tenses involuntarily, straining forward for a split second; it's enough to make him scream, if he had the breath to do so. But he is trapped, immobile, even his feet held down after his last outburst and his body goes limp in the next moment, surrendering completely. The shadow of pain turns the end of every breath into a sob even as he moans in breathless wonder as he feels himself open wider, and wider, and wider. “Oh, Jack… Here, blow your nose.” He does, weakly; approving fingers card through his hair, wipe his tears away. “Good, Captain. Don’t worry about anything. All you have to do is lie there and take it, I’ll take care of the rest.”

Jack grunts as the egg moves again, a deep guttural noise he only makes when taken to his limits; he can’t control it at all. He tries to let go, to fall into that empty place where things happen to him and he simply accepts, but this egg is bigger.

“Can’t,” he forces out between grunts, begging for more reassurance as he feels skin begin to tear.

The Doctor’s hand pauses its calming motion briefly, coming to rest at the side of his face; then it slides back into his hair, grips with an irresistible strength, turns his face up. “You can,” the Time Lord says. “You will. You’ll take this for me, Captain, because I want you to do it, because I love to see you like this, so round and full for me, so stuffed you couldn’t escape even if you weren’t tied down.” His other hand rubs Jack’s bloated belly firmly and it hurts but combined with his words it is the pain of success, a rush of endorphins that turns the rest of it to liquid gold in Jack's veins. “I’m going to fill you up until you can’t hold any more, Captain.” Jack groans like a tower in a storm as the Doctor presses a little harder, then leans down to his ear to growl, “And then I’m going to fuck it out of you.”

The egg slips inside and Jack’s grunts turn to half voiced cries as the relief of movement and the pleasure of being filled and the absolute brilliance of hearing such a filthy thing from the Doctor’s lips leave him shaking. He tilts his head back further and opens his mouth and the Doctor takes him in a devouring kiss, muffling the cries that turn back to grunts, keeping him distracted as the pain ramps up again.

He gasps as it passes. Now there are two bowling balls rolling around in his gut.

"Tell me how it feels," the Doctor orders, eyes boring into Jack's, taking in every flinch and grimace. 

"It _hurts_ ," Jack says, unable to think of anything more articulate. He has a terrible urge to curl up, curl in on himself, protect the damage - but even the most cursory movement toward that goal sends pain rippling across his grossly distended abdomen, hanging heavy below him. The Doctor's face falls slightly at his answer and Jack feels a desperate whine building in his throat. "Like your fist," he says, trying again, trying to be good. "Too big, stretching me where things shouldn't be. Keeps _moving_." The whine breaks free as Jack thrashes in his bindings, turns into a pained howl as he succeeds this time and everything inside shifts in response.

Strong hands grab his shoulders, hold him steady. "Where is it, Nurse Shua?" the Doctor demands. A tentacle touches a place on his back well up under his ribs.

"The egg is traversing a sharp turn in a very confined space, Doctor. Your Jack is not damaged."

“He is in significant pain!”

“Yes. My apologies. Subsequent eggs should not cause this level of discomfort.”

A third egg begins pushing through, huge and unstoppable, and Jack -

Jack lies there, and takes it. It’s what the Doctor wants, and therefore it is what Jack wants.

The pain inside him is less, eventually; somewhat hysterically Jack thinks _one down, eight to go!_ Something seems wrong with the math but it takes far more effort than he can put in right now to figure out what, so he dismisses it. Whatever happens, happens. He will take it.

“You should watch, Captain,” the Doctor urges, hands stroking soothingly. “It’s quite amazing, how much that lovely arse of yours can take.”

It’s a nice arse; lots of people have told him so. Nice for nesting too, now. Once the third egg is inside his hole gapes open around the tentacle entering him, a puffy red maw, his body not even making the attempt to close anymore. Just inside is the most pleasurable part of the process. He wants to buck and strain and shift the thing against his prostate but he can’t, and is much too stuffed to enjoy it if he could, so it’s just as well it doesn’t stay. His balls are red as well, darkened by continually frustrated arousal; the angle is wrong to see his cock but Jack suspects it has been putting on an interesting show, the shifting front in the battle between arousal and pain. The occasional splash of wetness against his belly suggests he is back to leaking again. His knees and elbows, hips and shoulders ache; as much as he cannot imagine moving, he hopes he will not have to stay in this position for days. Tentacles enmesh his arms and legs, chest and hips, steady him and help bear the weight, and really all his limbs are anymore is a stand to hold the spine that supports the centre. All he is is distended belly, all there is is the next enormous bulge seeking entrance, the increasing fullness, the hands sliding with cool pressure over him in calming waves, the voice he trusts pulling him along. “It’s alright, Jack, I’m here, I’ll be right here with you the entire time.”

Eyes glazed and unfocused, Jack watches the body on the screen twitch and tremble and take it, take every bit of stretching and filling he has ever imagined; lays there docile and immobilised as the hard weights of eggs shift glacially to their places inside him, cushioned and safe.

There are - perhaps - six of them inside, when the first one reaches the end of its journey and a bizarre crawling sensation begins as the tentacle slowly retracts to leave the egg lodged in there with only the fluid he is filled with to keep it company. Jack doesn’t have a lot of resolution in the impressions he gets from the nerves in his gut, but the change from the _dangerously large_ feel of the egg-inside-tentacle to the _very stretched_ feel of just the egg sends a jolt of amorphous relief through him, and the crawling sensation makes him twitch; it ends up coming out as a drunk little giggle.

He does it again when the second egg settles.

Another egg slides in, meeting very little resistance now, and Jack suddenly realises this one must have a much shorter journey than the first one. The Doctor’s face moves into his line of sight again and Jack gives him a blitzed - possibly slightly demented - smile.

“Have we got back to the good part?” he asks, his smile like sunshine on Jack’s face.

“Yehhh,” Jack slurs. The third egg settles and he giggles again. “No’ drunk.”

“You are absolutely high as a kite on endorphins and who knows what else, Captain,” the Doctor assures him, and kisses his forehead.

Suffused with more shivery brilliance than he knows what to do with, Jack closes his eyes and smiles. “Love you,” he sighs, and giggles. “Good nest.”

“The very best.” His hands have never stopped petting Jack as the eggs have gone in; they don’t now.

The tentacle continues its slow exit, and the eggs continue their slow progress, and Jack loses count, of course. It all feels good now, every bit of discomfort demonstrably a step toward a soon-to-be-reached goal, the intrusion inside him transforming into a comfortable and comforting weight. Once he gets used to it, the feel of the tentacle sliding slowly from his arse is intensely arousing; he is whining insistently by the time it makes it out, twitching hips bumping his overeager cock into the hard curve of his belly. He tries to clench and finds himself plugged by something immovable. It’s almost enough to make him cry.

The Doctor pats his arse. “All done, Captain. Stretched and stuffed and filled with eggs and plugged for the duration.”

And the idea that the Doctor might leave him like this _is_ enough to make him cry. “Please,” he begs. All the inconsistent buildup and stimulation has been more than enough to leave him desperate, swollen and leaking with the worst case of blue balls he can remember. “ _Please_ , please, _please_ -”

“Hm? Something you need?” His fingers trail lightly down to cup Jack’s aching balls, so sensitive now that it feels like a vise of cold stone.

“ _Plee-ease_ ,” Jack wails, unable to make a coherent argument.

The fingers slide upward again, through the slickness around his wrecked hole. “I suspect -” the Doctor says; they press lightly, then slide in when Jack whines eagerly. He sees stars when they find his prostate, when they massage with _purpose_ finally, every nerve outlined in a neon flash like a full-body version of closing his eyes too hard. He probably yells; the Doctor says, “Hold him still,” but there’s a hand on his cock too and at this point Jack would trade any amount of pain for this release. It takes what feels like a small eternity to get him there, overstimulated and exhausted as he is, but the Doctor is well used to wringing orgasms from him and this time he wrings Jack for all he’s worth, hands working him until he has spent his last drop and lays limp and moaning softly again.

Laying down on hip and elbow next to him, the Doctor proceeds to kiss him breathless whilst wiping his hands. Then he brushes Jack’s sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, wipes his face with a clean corner of towel, kisses him again, and sits up. “Get some sleep, Captain, if you can. You’ve had a long day.”


	7. Occupied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor begins his investigation of all the delightful things he can do with a Captain stuffed full of eggs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: spanking, orgasm denial, force feeding, emetophilia. _Not_ a soft chapter.

When Jack wakes the room is warm and dim and he is surprisingly comfortable. He stays that way for a while, just enjoying the novelty; comfort isn't what he came here for, of course, but the moments of it he finds between the pain are all the more poignant. He came here to be stretched to the limits of his body and mind, and in that wish he is fulfilled and more than satisfied.

He has been left in the well-padded cradle, his chest leant comfortably against the centre support, cheek laid against the lowered bolster, arms tucked close to his sides on their platforms. The bar holding his thighs back seems to have been removed; his back slants down, his egg-filled belly resting fully supported by the elastic sling beneath it, and his legs are spread wide - very wide - around it and folded beneath him. The Doctor is asleep in the low recliner, head fallen to his shoulder, drooling just enough to leave a damp spot on his shirt.

He set up the chair so Jack would see him immediately upon waking. So Jack wouldn't wonder for even the moment it took to look toward the bed whether he had been left alone.

For a little while Jack just watches the rise and fall of his chest, the way his lips puff out slightly with each exhale. Without the benefit of his usual styling his hair frames his face in an appealingly wild halo; Jack would brush it from his forehead if he could. He is asking a lot from the Doctor here. Jack has tried to give back as much as he can, but so much of the fantasy is his own loss of agency that, for the most part, he has to rely on the Doctor to take what he wants - which he has done, and brilliantly. Jack hopes he is enjoying it.

The screen is still on, camera trained on Jack's plugged backside and a side view of his expanded middle. He spends a little while admiring that view as well. The tangled mess of stretch marks crazing his skin have faded significantly whilst he slept; will it all be whole skin by the time the eggs come out, this expanse of it surrounding his temporary contents? His arse looks good too, split wide around the plug left inside him. Deciding he wants a better look at the plug, Jack begins painstakingly inching his knees backwards to raise his arse. The room brightens with his movement, which helps.

Swallowing a surprised exclamation, Jack watches the plug slowly retreat inside him as he straightens out. His belly shifts ponderously, but as long as he takes it slow the movement causes him no great discomfort - the plug, on the other hand… 

Now that he is up on his elbows and knees again, it doesn’t quite hold him open like the last one. If he relaxes, it stays just barely inside, leaving his hole a gaping entrance to a cocksleeve Jack knows the Doctor is eager to fuck again. If he clenches, he can almost close over it. If he bears down -

Jack swallows, heat rising to his face as he watches, as he _feels_ , his hole stretch open around the thick plug pushing out of him, then close back over the rounded end as it retreats. If he bears down, the thing coiling through his guts fucks him from the inside.

He does it again.

And again.

Jack doesn’t realise how loud his moans have become until the Doctor startles up from his chair. “Jack? What are you - oh. _Oh_.” He looks Jack over so slowly, with so little expression, that an uncharacteristic, uncomfortable flame of embarrassment kindles in his chest. He isn’t even sure why, except that - well, what he had been doing, it felt - “Tell me how it feels,” the Doctor orders as he stands.

“Good,” Jack whispers. He whimpers as the Doctor smacks his arse - and clenches, which increases the pressure inside. His hole eases back open when he relaxes. Unprotected. Exposed. _Vulnerable_.

“Louder, Captain. You were plenty loud a moment ago.”

“It feels good, Doctor.” His voice cracks.

“And?”

And… what? It feels good, really good. “It feels like getting fucked from the inside.” The Doctor settles down behind him, between his spread legs; Jack can’t see his face at all now. He could be anyone. He runs a finger around the inside of Jack’s hole and now Jack knows what else it is. “It feels so wrong,” he whispers, choking down the anxious anticipation.

The finger is still there, doing nothing but being where nothing should so casually be - yet. “There’s something in you that won’t come out, Captain.” His voice is smooth and dark, so dark. “Nothing you do can make it do more than stretch you open, again and again, just to keep you ready. Nothing you do can make your own arse stay closed. You’re open to anyone, now.” Jack shudders and the Doctor spanks him again, harder.

He says _fuck_ , but he says it quietly.

“Show me.” After a momentary hesitation, which earns him another stinging hit, Jack bears down and pushes the plug out. The feel of it stretching him, sensitive skin thinning as it slides through, is even more intense this time; there is something a little degrading about eyes watching what comes out of his arse so closely. He tries, and fails, to stifle a whimpering moan and the Doctor laughs. “You love it. I can do anything I want to you, and you love it.”

The slick sliding down his belly from his leaking cock agrees with him. “Yes, Doctor.” Jack jolts in startled pain as the Doctor shoves the plug back in.

“Again,” he demands. “Fuck yourself with it. I want to watch.” He opens his trousers and pulls them down to his thighs, but doesn’t do anything further; just sits back on his heels to watch the obscene show he has ordered Jack to put on for him. Face flaming, heart racing, nearly blind with arousal, Jack is soon lost to the feeling, moaning, begging for the Doctor to touch him, to please let him come because although it’s enough to render him incoherent it’s not quite enough to tip him over the edge.

Instead of anything helpful his sadistic bastard of a lover just spreads his hands over Jack’s buttocks, squeezes gently, and _pushes_. With neither tentacles nor bar to hold him steady it’s enough to set his belly swaying, forward just a little - backward just a little - forward, what feels right up into his _throat_ \- backward, which in a horrible combination of effects both makes Jack clench in reaction and pushes the plug out with unyielding force through his protesting hole.

“Fuck! Fuck, _ungh_ , ow, oh, fuck, Doc, no, _please_ , fff -” But the Doctor keeps rocking him slowly, forward and back, and now he really is getting fucked from the inside, it isn’t him doing it at all anymore. Jack gives up trying to make words and just tries to keep his sphincter from tightening in the reflexive attempt to hold things in, because that plug is going through no matter what he does.

The feeling in his belly is indescribable. There is pain, of course, and there is queasy sickness, and there is the most intense sense of fullness he can imagine; but when the sway of his belly is inextricably linked with the thing fucking him there is also a feeling of being _occupied_. Of being simply a container for this immense thing inside, taken over with a completeness Jack has never experienced before to be a vessel for others’ use. 

He gives up trying _anything_ , just breathes when he can and feels the ocean inside ebb and flow.

“There,” the Doctor says, satisfied. “That’s it, Captain, you’re completely helpless here and there’s no point fighting it. Just surrender. I can do what I like with you, and I _will_.” Jack has just enough presence of mind left to clamp his fingers around his handholds and hold tight. Thumbs slide caressingly down the cleft of his arse as the Doctor says softly, “You are so very vulnerable like this.”

Jack can see it all on the display, the way the plug pushes out with all the weight of eggs and cushioning fill behind it, stretching his red, abused hole around it; the way it pulls back in again when his belly sways the other way, up to crush his lungs and choke his throat, and the way his hole winks open and closed, conflicting impulses sometimes helping, sometimes resulting in a painful ramming when the direction changes again. The way the Doctor’s hands cup his arse, so loving, so relentless. The way he reaches around -

Fingers ring Jack’s untouched cock like a circlet of fire, his own unstoppable motion making him thrust through to set every nerve alight - his belly crashes back, hips follow, and then forward again into that tight, slick passage -

As soon as he begins to come both hands hook around his thighs and the Doctor’s cock ploughs into him, fully inside with one rough shove and a hoarse shout, the force of his hips throwing the sway of Jack’s belly into disarray, stirring the hard weights of the eggs into chaotic movement. Jack screams as the sudden intrusion stretches him to his limit, gasps shallowly as he tries to hold onto his orgasm and then gives up any hope of controlling his reactions when the pounding rhythm resumes without pause. The Doctor fucks him with brutal efficiency, setting a quick, hard pace that pulls at Jack’s insides, pushes at things that have no room left to give. Jack’s body seems unable to decide which side of orgasm the interruption has dumped him on and his broken howls are as much for the need of something to sink his own cock into as for the pain.

In a surprisingly short time a couple of punishingly hard thrusts brings an end to it; the Doctor comes calling his name and Jack is left sobbing in need, thighs bruised from his lover’s iron grip, hips still rocking helplessly, tugging at the grips his hands are locked around as if some help might be found there. 

The Doctor groans as he pulls out a little, pushes back in. Something about that binary vascular system; it lets him continue tormenting Jack until he is good and ready to stop. “You look like you need some help, Captain,” he suggests, massaging Jack’s belly with a welcome roughness.

Jack tries to nod his head; it’s the only answer he can think of.

“You must be stuck right at the edge.” Out, in again. “I could help you with that. A nice firm grip on your cock, maybe?” Jack whines loud and long. “I want something from you.”

Jack shakes his head up and down frantically. _Anything._

“Nurse Shua,” the Doctor calls. Out, and back in again. Jack’s belly sways, just slightly. He sobs helplessly, trapped in utter misery and exulting in it.

A door opens. "Good morning, the Doctor and Jack," Nurse Shua says. Is it? "Do you require assistance?"

Ignoring the sobbing wreck he is still balls-deep in, the Doctor says quite pleasantly, "Good morning. Yes, please. A stomach fill for my Captain here. Something thick, I think, he won't be retaining it long but I want him to feel it."

"Just a moment," Nurse Shua says. The door shuts; the Doctor pulls out, pushes back in; Jack's belly sways. Jack tries to catch his breath but he just sobs harder in anticipation. Fingers brush his cock and he wails, broken.

"Not long now, Captain. I won't make you hold it long."

The door opens. Jack tips his head back, opens his mouth, and waits.

When the tentacle comes it chokes off his sobs, buries them under the thick pulsing length of it as it plunges down to his stomach. He can feel the tip of it poking around inside, can feel it very clearly because there is simply no more room - and then, as if he were a tree stump, it feels like someone had set a wedge in him and knocked it in. He is being split open.

He will tear apart under the pressure.

Jack holds tight to his handholds and tries desperately to relax every other thing. The Doctor's fingers lazily stroking his screaming cock make it impossible. His ribs creak; his breaths come shorter and shorter.

"That's enough for now, Nurse Shua, thank you," the Doctor says. Jack holds on as the tentacle pulls out, all his willpower devoted to holding the stuff in. Hands slide up his belly and the overwhelmed sobs start up as if they'd never stopped. "Shh, shh, Jack, almost done. We'll go slower next time but I didn't want to lose your orgasm. Still there, isn't it?" 

His fingers close a little tighter and Jack strains forward, chasing the suspended climax still dangling like a carrot on a stick just out of reach. His other hand presses at the top of Jack's belly and Jack groans in pain, rocking back onto the Doctor's cock.

"Yes," his lover says, breathy and moaning again. "Just like that, Jack, just like that. You hold it in, and I won't let go."

Tighter yet, and slick and _wonderful_ and Jack lets his body's reactions take them both where they want to go. His sobs turn to deep grunts and the Doctor's moans become needy whines until finally his hand clamps down on Jack's cock and he is stroking in earnest, tugging with a rough determination as if to pull the promised orgasm from him by main force. His other hand clamps around Jack's bruised thigh to hold him still as he fucks into him again. Jack can barely hold himself up anymore. The sizzle that took up residence in his nerves all those ages ago has become a roaring inferno.

The Doctor slams him forward hard - he's saying something, but Jack doesn't know what - and then it's all coming together, finally, _finally_ , and Jack's orgasm hits like a comet smashing through his belly. He screams but it's cut short as the stuff in his stomach rushes hot and thick up his throat, splashing to the floor in great spurts as the Doctor's hips slam into his arse again, and again, and again.

Head hanging, Jack moans quietly when it's over. He can't scrape together the will to care about the stuff still dripping from his mouth. If his cock was involved in all that, he doesn't know it.

Pulling away slowly, the Doctor groans and drops to his side on the floor at Jack's right. The blissful smile he aims upward is one of the most beautiful things Jack has ever seen. He raises a hand, trails a finger down the side of Jack's face, along his jaw, through the slick mess coating his lips and chin, into his slack mouth. "What a marvel you are, Jack," he murmurs. Jack smiles, faint but wholehearted.

The Doctor flops to his back but slides a second finger into Jack's mouth as if he can't bear to let go. "Nurse Shua," he calls tiredly.

The door opens again. "Yes, Doctor?"

"Might there be such a thing as a bath about? I’ve made a bit of a mess."


	8. Exploration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has a bath and the Doctor gets creative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: tentacles in all sorts of places including his nose, breath play, heavier dom/sub, punishment. This one is very much about pushing limits and the catharsis Jack gets from this arrangement. Very long chapter. There just didn't seem any good place to break it. Love to everyone following the story. Writing it has been a haven for me this year, and if there's one thing I've learned from kink memes and the like it's that if I like it there are other people out there who will like it too. Hope it helps.

Sunk into the warm water, stretched out with his belly just touching the bottom and his head resting on a coil of tentacle, Jack at last can _move_ again. Just straightening out feels like the most glorious stretch at first, just letting his shoulders relax, just pushing his feet as far from him as he can and leaving them there, supported by the water, drifting in the gentle current. The bath here is an immense thing, big enough for Jack to spread out with room enough for the Doctor and Nurse Shua to fit as well, styled like a rock pool set into the floor but smooth and contoured for the comfort of all sorts of differently-shaped clients. That friendly tentacle is back at his mouth, washing off the remains of the Doctor’s fun, nudging firm and comforting against his lips. Tired of an empty mouth when everything else is so tremendously full, Jack captures it and sucks gently, closes his eyes and lets himself drift.

A ripple rocks him gently as the Doctor steps in. "Is he asleep?"

"No," Nurse Shua replies. Jack hums vaguely and uses his restored mobility to reach for his lover. He gets an ankle at first, which is alright but not what he was hoping; then the Doctor sits down next to him and Jack makes a pleased noise as more interesting territory is made available.

"Jack," the Doctor moans as his hand slides between lean thighs, twisting to force them apart. "Jack, what are you -" He breaks off with a whimper when Jack curls fingers around his recently spent cock. Opening his eyes to peer sleepily at his lover, Jack smiles around the tentacle in his mouth. “What am I going to do with you, Captain?” the Doctor asks fondly, thumb tracing his lips, pressing at the corner of his mouth. “Completely insatiable. Here, lay him over me. Please feel free to touch, Nurse Shua, I’m sure I can’t keep up with him.”

With some minor bumping about Jack is repositioned between the Doctor’s legs, head pillowed on his chest, listening to his heartbeats. He has to let go the Doctor’s cock but the tradeoff seems worth it; Nurse Shua wraps additional tentacles around his wrists and lets him hold on to the ends of them, around his thighs to keep him in place. Familiar fingers card through his hair and more tentacles twine about his body and Jack sighs, content.

The Doctor's thighs press tightly against his midsection. "You are enormous, Captain," he complains, which seems a little rude considering how much he has contributed to the problem. "Well, you are," he mutters defensively. Lowering his knees, he replaces them with his hands, at first simply sliding across Jack's skin, examining his circumference, the outlines of the immensity contained inside. Jack moans happily around the tentacle in his mouth, wishing he had the camera and display here so he could see: gagged, bound, stuffed, and spread over the Doctor like some sort of fascinating specimen, he probably looks _great_. "I ought to spank that narcissism right out of you, Captain," the Doctor murmurs darkly, "but I don't seem to have the angle."

Wanting to point out how well _that_ endeavour has worked over the years, Jack grins and tries to spit the tentacle out of his mouth but it doesn’t go. Instead it wedges itself in behind his teeth, expanding into a gag he can’t move. The Doctor looks down at his startled noise in momentary concern, then smirks. 

“Very good, Nurse Shua. He looks lovely like that, you’re right.” Jack makes a pro forma disgruntled noise and relaxes as hands and tentacles pet him gently, keeping up a light, shifting pressure on his swollen belly. He feels his legs pulled further apart and then gasps - although it's more of a snort in the circumstances - as a tentacle crawls up the cleft of his arse, sliding and squirming with all the softness and dexterity of an enormous tongue. Jack squirms helplessly as well, whining and crying out with muffled little noises he can’t stop as it catches at his gaping rim, held open by the plug within. “Oh, that, that’s lovely too,” the Doctor moans, his cock beginning to harden again where it lays confined under Jack’s belly. “Keep doing that, please.”

Jack would agree wholeheartedly, if he had the ability to do so; the unceasing motion of it as it writhes over sensitive skin is one of the most delightful things he has ever felt, completely devoid of pain, utterly without goal other than pleasure. His pleasure, and the Doctor’s too, and he hopes their obvious enjoyment is providing Nurse Shua some satisfaction as well. A tentacle loops around his balls, massages carefully; Jack presses his face to his lover's chest and moans, and a hand tangles in his hair to pull him closer.

Cock now gliding over Jack's belly as his hips flex slowly, the Doctor's voice is dark velvet as he asks, “Are you full, Jack?” Only half attending, Jack moans agreeably. His belly weighs him down like a stone in the warm current and he rocks back and forth on the round curve of it between the Doctor’s hips and Nurse Shua’s tentacle. “Have we come to your limits?” Held firm, Jack can neither nod nor shake his head; he certainly can’t say anything. Have they? Perhaps the limits of comfort. He didn’t pop when they pumped his stomach full again, after all; he just couldn’t hold it. “Jack, I want you to do something for me.” Jack opens his eyes curiously as the Doctor tilts his head back. Gaze dark and piercing, hands pinning him firmly, the Doctor says, “Drink.”

Jack has only a very short time to be confused before the tentacle in his mouth begins to deliver a slow stream of liquid to the back of his throat. With a gurgling cry he startles violently, but between the Doctor’s hands and the tentacles holding all his limbs he has nowhere to go and no choice but to swallow. His cock throbs traitorously as the first mouthful goes down and more seeps into his throat.

The Doctor kisses his upturned forehead and loosens his grip. “Good, Captain. Just like that. We’ll go slow.” He had promised that, hadn’t he? “You must, you know, you’ll have to keep replacing the water your body extracts or it really won’t go well.” Jack swallows again, wondering why he has to do the work this time. He likes a tentacle fucking his throat just fine. Stroking his hair gently, the Doctor whispers, “I want to watch you force it down for me.”

Jack shudders as a frisson of anxious arousal sweeps through him. A slower process of finding his limits then, this time, but much more difficult for Jack; they will be searching for the limits of his ability to obey, as well. The Doctor smiles at him; the tentacle continues its glorious assault on his backside. Relaxing back into the bath, the Doctor strokes Jack’s back, his rounded flanks, thrusts with more force against the upper arc of his distended midsection - right where he needs the space for the stuff he has to swallow. Every thrust draws a low moan from Jack, his own uncontrollable squirming only making everything more complicated. But he wouldn’t wish away the rippling slide of the tentacle against his arse for anything.

The eggs inside him are at once stranger and more comfortable than a tentacle of the same diametre had been; the space between them allows for more movement inside instead of holding everything still and solidly plugged. Every flex of Jack’s spine, every thrust of the Doctor’s cock, every caress of his hands, keeps them shifting about, hard masses tenderising Jack from the inside and jostling unpredictably against ribs, spine, pelvis. Nothing really hurts yet; maybe it will be a long time until it does. All he can do is follow the Doctor’s orders and fill himself fuller. Jack swallows again, closes his eyes, and sinks into the mindless pleasure of being a beloved plaything.

The Doctor hums approvingly, hands flat on his back to hold him still. “There’s something so enticing about you like this, Captain. Lying here against me so pliant, so willing, so terribly vulnerable.” The hands lay heavier, compressing Jack’s belly against the Doctor’s hips, his legs, the bottom of the bath. Jack swallows again with slightly more difficulty, throat working against his lover’s chest. “Such things I want to do to you, Jack.”

The hands slide down his back, rocking his weight to the lower curve of his belly, then back up again, slow and steady, keeping the eggs moving and pressing his breath out in a long groan. By the time his breath is fully expelled and the hands start down again, his throat is so full that some of the liquid goes up his nose when he tries to swallow. Jack snorts and sniffles and the Doctor chuckles. “Do try to keep it going down the right way. You’re doing well,” he adds, kissing Jack’s head again. “You’re doing very well.”

He rocks Jack back and forth like that for long enough that Jack begins to drift into thoughtlessness, swallowing when the Doctor tips him back, moaning into the bath-warmed skin of his chest as he tips Jack forward again. Nurse Shua has moved on to making him squirm in other ways, tickling his feet, spiraling a tentacle around his cock, snaking across his belly, prodding around the edges of the plug that fills him so delightfully full. Dimly Jack can feel the pressure inside increasing as the hands on his back press heavier; swallowing is becoming more difficult and the hard lumps of eggs inside are a strange kind of pain he doesn't know how to deal with. He twists, arches his back, squirming under the Doctor's hands no longer in pleasure but in an attempt to relieve the discomfort. Jack swallows, because he must, and then moans in an attempt to beg relief.

"Oh, Captain," the Doctor sighs, hips driving a fresh pulse of pain into Jack’s guts with every movement. "You’re so beautiful when you struggle. You’re always so good for me, aren’t you. How much can you take, do you think?" Heart pounding in his chest, Jack takes a breath, swallows; takes another. No reprieve, then. The Doctor's knees come up to bracket his middle. "Nurse Shua, you'll want to hold his feet."

Caught in the terrible vise of his lover’s limbs, Jack tries, he tries so _hard_ to be good, to lay limp and take what the Doctor gives him without complaint, but as the Doctor’s legs clamp tighter around him Jack can’t tear his attention from his throat, inexorably filling, and his nose, the single remaining passage into his body. The single remaining way the pressure inside might escape. He swallows because he has no choice although there is no room inside; like trying to drink his way out of a drowning. Pulse crashing like the ocean in his ears, Jack feels the eggs shift, feels the plug in his arse force its way out as the pressure increases. That pain in the centre of his chest begins again and his breaths come more and more shallow and he can feel the contents of his stomach close to escaping but Jack _tries_.

“Does it hurt?" the Doctor whispers into his hair as his throat convulses, forcing the stuff down in a clawing wave. "Are you afraid, Jack?” He _is_ afraid, and it _does_ hurt. Jack whimpers, tears blurring his vision. He struggles - he can’t help it - and hopes the Doctor is enjoying it. A hand strokes his face gently and the Doctor says, “I want to hear you, Jack, let me hear you,” and Jack is lost, wrenching sobs bubbling up from deep inside as the pain inside ramps up and up, as his throat fills yet again, unstoppable. He bucks and flails and pushes against yielding tentacles like fighting water and cries out in muffled terror behind the one jammed immovably behind his teeth, but finally he has to swallow again.

He fails. His throat balks completely; his nasal passages flood with a great wash of fluid and he is cut off now, filled so completely there is no room for air, no way for it to enter his body and sustain him -

The tentacle is gone and Jack gasps for breath, coughs and snorts and sobs on the Doctor’s chest, eyes and nose streaming.

“ _Such_ a mess, Captain,” the Doctor murmurs disapprovingly, although his knees no longer press and he strokes Jack’s hair and face and shoulders with a reassuring care. Jack moans and it bubbles in his nose. "Shh, shh. Let it drain. You're alright now, Jack, good lad, shh…" He pets and praises and his voice washes over Jack like wind-tossed surf as he lays twitching, tears gradually slowing, the occasional choking cough shaking him as his nose drains both outward and down the back of his throat. Another hundred deaths relived, undone. The Doctor’s thumb slides across his upper lip, slightly slick in the mess; circles his mouth, tilts his chin up. Opening his eyes Jack peers somewhat blearily up at his lover, who is watching him curiously. “I admit I had never considered…”

Jack is unprepared for the finger pushing into his nose. He startles but has nowhere to go, held close, head already tilted back. “Hey - wait -”

“Maybe not fingers,” the Doctor muses. “Nurse Shua, one of those delightful tickly tentacles of yours, perhaps?”

The tentacles holding Jack’s legs shift, sliding across his skin as they fold his legs so his knees touch the bottom of the bath, spiraling up to his arse to resume the nurse’s apparent campaign to make him come with neither penetration nor stimulation on his cock. Jack shudders and moans as the Doctor murmurs compliments to them both - and then Jack jerks as a thin tentacle threads its way up his nose. “Doc, what, fuck, _fuck_ -”

It squirms slightly inside him, worming its way in through a passage not meant for solid objects. The violation is thrillingly novel; the jolt of arousal that strikes straight to his groin is unexpected and not entirely welcome.

“You _like_ it,” the Doctor says, sounding very amused; Jack tries to bite him but can’t move his head to quite the right angle.

“I hate it,” Jack insists, swallowing convulsively against the tickly, full feeling.

“You hate that you like it,” his bastard of a lover corrects as Jack’s hips rock uselessly, stabbing himself in the belly.

“I hate _you_ ,” Jack groans, which gets him that glorious dark curl of lips. Shadowed eyes watch him sharply as he twists and shudders, whining at the growing blockage in his nose. Nearly choked to death, and now this, and how is this such a thrill? With his knees on the ground now Jack has the leverage to thrust against the Doctor so he does, cheek sliding on his chest, belly pushing his thighs open to press against his cock, and now for the first time in days he has his lover pinned and moaning beneath _him_. It is intensely satisfying, even if very temporary.

The tentacle is still squirming in his nose; it seems like it ought to have run out of space. It slides obscenely, cutting off his airflow, still making progress toward a goal Jack can’t make sense of until he feels it emerge from his other nostril. It coils about itself in front of his face as Jack stares at it in shock, mouth open.

“Nose ring!” the Doctor sputters, laughing in delight. “Nurse Shua, I admire your creativity. How delightful.” Two fingers slide into Jack’s open mouth and, out of habit, he closes and tries to breathe through his nose; it feels like hitting a brick wall. His mouth drops open and he gasps as the Doctor bucks hard against his belly. “Oh, _Jack_ ,” the Doctor groans. “How can you let me do these things to you?” The tentacle in his nose pulses softly; Jack resists the urge to blow his nose, or snort and swallow, and just pants shallowly as the fingers in his mouth press deeper. “Every new thing I do leaves you more vulnerable, but you do it anyway, everything I ask of you and more, and I don’t know -” He swallows, eyes deep and dark as he watches every twitch of Jack’s face and whispers, “Why is it so good, making you cry?”

Very deliberately this time, Jack closes his lips around his lover’s fingers and suckles gently. Eyes going very wide, the Doctor stares silently, his own breath caught in his throat. His other hand clutches at Jack’s back, hips strain against his belly with insistent upward pushes that stress his body and stir the eggs inside into painful chaos but still he holds on, watching his lover as his vision goes red and the need for air becomes dire. The flush on the Doctor’s face spreads as Jack’s eyes begin to water; he whimpers, catches his lip between his teeth, but he doesn’t pull his fingers away and his eyes never waver from Jack’s face until suddenly his back arches and his eyes roll back as he comes.

Opening his mouth, Jack gasps for breath and savours the Doctor’s helpless grunts and the feel of his cock spending as he shudders beneath Jack.

As he stills, Jack waits, relaxed under Nurse Shua’s gentle touch. His new restraint tugs at the sensitive tissues inside his nose uncomfortably as he nuzzles into the Doctor’s chest, moves his head slightly to find a clean place to kiss. With a quiet moan, the Doctor slides the hand on his back up to tangle in his hair. “Alright, Jack?”

“Alright,” he says, intelligible but odd sounding. The hand tilts his head down experimentally; the nose ring resists the movement. “Ow,” Jack says, trying to make sense of sensations where none normally are.

“Really alright?”

“Yeah,” he assures his lover, not attempting to nod. “Dif’rent.”

The Doctor smirks. “Very different. It looks remarkably uncomfortable, to be honest, and quite strange. But it seems very effective, as a halter and and at keeping you quiet both. The possibilities are thrilling.” Jack’s stomach rolls in queasy arousal at the idea of being kept like this, a docile pet on a lead; nevermind a collar, being led by the nose has it all beat for inability to resist. “I could show you off like a prize stallion. Would you like that?”

After considering the question carefully, Jack sighs. “No. Only here. Safe.”

Very, very gently the Doctor tugs on the ring of tentacle; Jack’s head follows helplessly. “Yes, it could be a terrible inconvenience, any normal day,” he agrees, clearly following the same line of thought; any normal day they spend together tends to involve a great deal of trouble. Smirking, he lets go and runs a finger over Jack’s open lips. “Makes that lovely mouth of yours less useful, too.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining,” Jack points out smugly; the Doctor’s cock is still softening against his belly.

Unexpectedly sincere, the Doctor tilts Jack's face up again to see those ancient eyes gone warm as a summer evening and says, “Of everything here, I suspect that will be one of the things I remember best. Thank you, Jack.”

“Anytime,” Jack promises.

Laying his head back, the Doctor closes his eyes. “The maddest thing of all, Nurse Shua,” he murmurs, “is that he really means that.”

“You seem to take very good care of your Jack,” Nurse Shua replies.

“I haven’t always.”

“Nonetheless he trusts you.”

The Doctor sighs, runs a finger over Jack’s nose feather-light. Comforted by the return of conversation flowing over his head without requiring his participation, Jack lays content against his lover’s chest, listening to the quick double drumbeat under his ear. “To truly ridiculous extents sometimes. Yes. He is a wonder. I won’t leave it long, Jack, I don’t want to damage anything, but… can you bear it a little longer?”

“Yes, Doctor.” He would bear much more, for much longer, for this.

"Can you turn him over?" the Doctor asks, addressing the nurse again. "Lay him against me belly up?"

"Certainly," Nurse Shua says, and since Jack is already entirely trapped in tentacles begins to do so immediately. He whimpers as everything inside shifts vertiginously. Displaying a keen appreciation for his situation and a sense of humour Jack appreciates in the abstract, the nurse keeps his head pinned simply by making no effort with the nose ring as the rest of his body rotates.

“Tell me how it feels, Jack," the Doctor orders gently.

Jack can’t look away. “Bloody awful,” he groans. Left side up now, his belly feels lopsided and much too full although Nurse Shua has his arm tucked around it to help support the weight. “Like it’s going to fall off, too heavy.” As he rotates he sinks, and as he sinks he squirms, because he can feel the plug in his arse forcing him open again as it pushes outward with riveting slowness. He groans as it makes it through. "Plug," he gasps, at the Doctor's inquiry; the sly bastard grins. The eggs bump about horribly and settle in new places against his ribs and spine and pelvis. His neck hurts, twisted up in a direction that was very comfortable a third of a rotation ago. After waiting long enough to make sure he truly appreciates the favour, Nurse Shua lets him move - or rather _makes_ him move, which is… intense.

Finally he comes to rest leant against the Doctor, more upright than he would prefer, the buoyancy lent by the water leaving him sat lightly against the bottom of the bath and rocking slightly back and forth on the plug at the least disturbance. Jack wriggles uncomfortably as the Doctor’s hands wander over the tight roundness of his belly, constricted now by his position.

“Struggle all you like, Captain,” the Doctor says, plumping his belly like a pillow. Jack makes a strange barking noise at the shock of it, and the Doctor laughs and does it again; Jack barks again, and moans as the eggs shift. The punctuated solidity of them is unignorable. “I would quite enjoy watching you try to escape, actually.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Jack says, voice rather choked as his head follows the tentacle looped through his nose, twitching side to side, up and down at Nurse Shua’s whim. It feels like a huge sneeze that can’t quite make it out every time the tentacle shifts and pulls, and the feeling is stronger each time. His eyes are watering badly and he is beginning to want to claw at his face, to dig the thing out of him.

“I suppose it would be more like taking you for a walk, at the moment,” the Doctor concedes. Bending his head, he nuzzles at Jack’s left ear, skims it with his teeth. “Would you crawl for me, Captain?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jack breathes. He would try, at least, and the spectacle would surely be entertaining.

“Good lad,” the Doctor says, and tugs Jack’s head down by his lead to look at himself. Once he blinks the tears from his eyes he moans in appreciation. It’s hard to credit the immense fleshy mound in front of him as being in any way part of himself, despite having seen quite a bit of it yesterday. It seems to lurk there, mostly submerged, but it arcs out undeniably from his ribcage and he can both feel and see the Doctor’s hand spread atop it, rubbing slowly. The stretch marks have faded; Jack finds he misses them. Seeing the evidence of how fast he was filled had been thrilling. Nurse Shua is close at hand to their right, looking very at home in the water as washes of blue and brown chase across its purple skin; it also looks much larger, its tentacles coiling along the bottom of the bath and up Jack’s side, over his thigh. He is mostly unrestrained now, save for a comforting grip left around his right ankle. “Beautiful from any angle,” the Doctor says, hands sliding over his body possessively. “But what a thing you’ve done to yourself, getting in this state when you know my favourite thing is making you regret it. Nurse Shua, I should like to find out whether he can sit up.”

It will squeeze him more, Jack thinks, and make the plug more relevant, but surely it wouldn’t be much worse than his current position?

“Certainly, Doctor,” Nurse Shua replies, and pulls Jack forward - by the lead in his nose, only that, and that _is_ worse, _much_ worse.

His head follows, because it must do, and then his abdominal muscles attempt to tense but not a single one of them is in a state to do so. Jack cries out at the stabbing pain, twenty knives in his stuffed-to-bursting belly, flails wildly to find purchase for his hands to push him up. The pull in his nose is soft but horribly unyielding and he can’t relax because he can’t fall back, twenty knives are better than the visceral terror of what happens if he pulls against something looped through his nasal cavities. “Help,” he forces out, the movement hurting badly, “please, help -” But his left elbow finds the Doctor’s chest which is good for pushing and nevermind the complaints, and his right hand finds the floor and he is up, abdominal muscles released, crisis averted, blinded by tears and making strange half-voiced cries as he gasps for breath. It takes him a while to realise they would be sobs, if he could breathe properly. “Hurts,” he begs, “nose, hurts, please -”

The Doctor’s hands slip around his thighs to push his legs apart; his belly sinks a little deeper and he rocks on his arse, squirming and whimpering as the plug tugs at the sensitive skin of his rim, pushes at the mass of misery inside. “One more thing, Captain.” One hand stays teasingly close to his confused cock; the other drifts upward, palming it briefly before skimming up the entire curve of his belly, his chest, coming to rest cupping his throat. Tilting Jack’s head back against his shoulder, which thankfully the awful nose ring allows him, the Doctor says, “Nurse Shua, will you please check if the water he drank has been absorbed? Take a breath, Jack.”

Jack moans sickly, but he is not being offered a choice and he knows he can do this. He only has to take the first step; it barely counts as a test of obedience. He takes a breath, closes his eyes, and opens his mouth wide for the tentacle that slips smooth as butter across his tongue and down his throat.

The Doctor moans as his throat bulges; Jack can’t. Rendered completely mute, Jack just feels as it pushes down, and down, and down, sliding through his lips like taking the longest cock ever. He _would_ moan, if he could, but instead he slumps against the backrest of his lover, limp in surrender to conserve oxygen. 

"His stomach is empty, Doctor."

"Thank you. Don't fill it just now, please, but you may poke around a bit if you like."

The tentacle pulses as it moves, prodding around inside his stomach; pushes yet more in, and more. Things are going a little hazy as Jack realises he is now filled solid from end to end, no room even for air, a custom fuck doll and incubator trapped by the ungainly mass of what he has taken into himself.

Stroking his throat the same way he strokes his cock, the Doctor laughs softly. “Yes, Jack. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Bound and helpless, trapped by your own body, just a thing to be filled and fucked any way I like?” It is the thing in his throat that is fucking him now, Jack thinks; the slow back and forth of it over his lips and tongue is mesmerising, the pulsing movement inside him as it coils in his stomach something utterly new and wonderful. “The way it moves in your throat, Jack, it’s amazing… But that’s enough, it’s time to come out now.”

Things continue to grow dimmer and hazier as the tentacle reverses its course, leaving Jack disappointed and his stomach to collapse back to minimal size as it pulls out, still pulsing as it withdraws in a smooth slide up his throat. Jack can feel a violent retch building in the pit of his stomach and hopes vaguely that he isn’t in a spacesuit; he is consumed by a burning need and can’t remember what _for_ , which feels familiar. Probably air. It’s usually air.

His held breath escapes explosively as soon as the tentacle is out of the way; he gulps a new one, then the Doctor’s hand clamps on his throat. Jack’s rebelling stomach takes a back seat to the need for oxygen and subsides enough that Jack can fight it down as he sucks in a constricted breath. “There,” the Doctor says, pleased. He lets go, and Jack breathes, and breathes, and breathes. “You went terribly fuzzy there for a moment, but you wouldn’t have enjoyed dry heaving right now even if you’re not in a spacesuit.”

"Yeah," Jack rasps eventually. Swallows, and coughs, and spits slime. "Thanks. Can I…" he indicates his nose ring diffidently. "Only it keeps feeling worse."

"Oh, yes. Nurse Shua?"

Tentacles shift in a gentle sway. "There is some swelling in his nasal tissues. There may be significant discomfort during withdrawal. May I hold him still, to minimise damage?"

"Please do," the Doctor says, sounding less cheerful than before. "Jack -"

"Be fine," Jack insists as tentacles wrap him into immobility, and then a terrible, terrible thing happens and keeps happening and _keeps happening_. It feels like someone has reached in and hooked his _brain_ out and is pulling it out in a long taffy string, only worse because, at least at first, whilst it goes out one nostril there is something just as nightmarish crawling _in_ the other one. By the time one side is clear his throat is hoarse from yelling and his eyes are watering too badly to see; by the time the whole thing is out he probably would have broken the Doctor's nose and done himself significant damage were he not restrained. The Doctor lays back in the bath, and Nurse Shua deposits Jack on his chest, and Jack turns his head if he wants to and sniffles and wrinkles his nose and enjoys being able to do so, even if it hurts just yet; and rests.

"Please do not clear your nasal passages for another ten minutes, Jack," Nurse Shua says. "I have secreted a healing compound with mild analgesic properties which should help, although I know you are unusually resilient."

"Thank you," Jack says. Now he sounds like he has a cold. He stares at Nurse Shua for a while, watching the colours shift gently. "Nurse Shua…"

The ruffle on top… ruffles. "Yes, Jack?"

"You are an exceptionally competent person," Jack settles on, not yet quite willing to say _thank you_ for the rest of it. The Doctor catches his right hand silently, interweaves their fingers, and sets them both on Jack's belly, making little circles with his thumb.

“I am pleased that you are satisfied,” the nurse says, becoming more brown.

“And surprisingly kinky,” Jack adds, grinning.

“Please consider my chosen occupation.”

“ _And_ you have a great sense of humour.”

“I am enjoying your company as well, Jack. And you, Doctor. Observing your relationship is fascinating, and I have greatly enjoyed participating. I regret the discomfort, Jack.”

“Don’t. I like it. Or at least… want it.” _Like_ may be slightly incorrect, considering the level of pain he has found for himself here. But he likes other things about it. The fullness. The challenge. The way the Doctor looks at him. “I would like if you fucked my throat again, if you wanted to. Like you were doing, all the way down to my stomach. When I can breathe, and we can take longer with it. That was… I really liked it.”

"I am willing, if the Doctor allows."

"A person of impeccable manners and discretion as well," the Doctor murmurs. "Of course, you may. But not right now. Right now, Jack,” he slides their joined hands up to the top of Jack’s mound of belly, presses him down on the plug until he squirms, “I want you to rest, and drink more.” The always-present tentacle nudges at Jack’s lips and he swallows nervously. “It doesn’t need to be a gag unless you want it to be. But I’d like you to try doing it under your own power. And because, unlike you, I am still subject to needs of the flesh, I am going to go find some breakfast.”

Jack whimpers. He doesn’t mean to, but the thought of the Doctor _leaving -_

Holding him close, the Doctor kisses his hair. “I won’t be far, and Nurse Shua will stay with you. I’ll bring it back with me and eat it here, if you’d rather. I only haven’t so you wouldn’t have to smell what you can’t have.”

“Yes,” Jack says, relieved. “Bring it back with you.”

The Doctor extracts himself from his spot with some difficulty, settles Jack against the surprisingly comfortable section of wall he had been using as a backrest, smiles and kisses him again when Jack tilts his face up hopefully. When he stands Jack can see a dark discoloration on the left side of his chest.

“Doctor,” he says, alarmed, pointing at it; the Doctor’s face turns fierce on the instant and he whirls.

“What?” he demands, surveying the small room. “What is it?”

Heart aching at the protectiveness, Jack swallows thickly. “No, Doctor, you’re hurt. You’ve a bruise all up your ribs. I hurt you.”

Much more slowly, the Doctor turns back; he drops to his haunches and stares at Jack silently for a while, then reaches to brush damp hair from his forehead, touch his face with gentle fingertips. “I don’t know what to say to that, in this circumstance,” he says, finally, eyes deep and sad, “except that I should like you not to worry about it, Jack, please. I know it upsets you to hurt me, but I am not upset by it and you’ve done nothing wrong. It was my fault. Alright?”

“Alright,” Jack agrees doubtfully.

“Good,” the Doctor says. His thumb strokes Jack’s lips and the tentacle next to them. “Drink, Captain. I’ll be back soon.”

Feeling slightly sulky, Jack settles down into the bath and doesn’t open his mouth as the Doctor leaves. His nose is still too swollen to breathe through easily, though, so eventually he opens his lips and breathes through his teeth.

A tentacle bumps up against his palm; a touch he can choose to pull away from. “Can I help in any way?”

“No,” Jack grumps, closing his fingers gently around the tentacle. It pulses and slides in his grip. “Bet I could make you feel good.”

“I have thoroughly enjoyed exploring your body and your reactions, I assure you, Jack,” Nurse Shua says, managing to actually _sound_ amused this time.

“Anything you want to try you haven’t got to yet?”

“I believe you are meant to be drinking.” Jack sulks silently for a little while, teeth clenched. Nurse Shua must get propositioned by all its clients, he supposes; but Jack is used to his attempts _working_. “If the Doctor returns to find you have not done as he asked, what will he do?”

A shiver runs down Jack's spine and his cock twitches. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But it will be a lot more difficult than drinking. And then I’ll have to do the drinking anyway. Couldn’t you just… fill me up?”

“Certainly not,” Nurse Shua says, ripples of blue chasing across its skin. “You were very insistent about the waiver.”

Jack suspects the nurse is laughing at him. “Shouldn’t you be making me drink, then?”

“The Doctor instructed that you do it by your own will. I may leave you to risk the consequences.”

The trouble is, Jack has no idea what the Doctor might require of him. His ingenuity so far has been unexpectedly wide-ranging in scope and difficulty so there is no doubt Jack will regret disobeying; he can think of twenty things the Doctor might do to him, and probably none of them are right. And why it should be _rest and drink_ that pushed him into sulky intransigence he doesn’t know. Only the Doctor just _left_ him here -

The door in the other room opens and Jack jams the tentacle into his mouth.

Telltale bursts of blue flicker along Nurse Shua’s tentacles as Jack sucks and swallows impatiently. The Doctor appears with a tray of food and smiles down at him cheerfully. “Very good -” He trails off; Jack smiles hopefully and swallows again. The Doctor’s eyebrow quirks. “Has he got much down, Nurse Shua?”

“I wouldn't say so, Doctor. He only started when you walked in.” Jack glares at the nurse in wounded betrayal.

“Mm.” The Doctor considers Jack curiously; Jack doesn’t dare stop drinking to attempt an excuse. It would probably just earn him a spanking on top of whatever else. “This is not where I had expected the difficulty, I admit. Has it been too much, all at once?”

A pit opens in Jack’s chest, pain entirely unrelated to anything filling him. Disappointing the Doctor is heartbreaking; causing the Doctor to be disappointed in _himself_ is beyond bearing. “Mm-mm,” Jack protests, shaking his head emphatically. “Mm-mm.” He _hasn’t_ pushed Jack too far and failed to notice.

“Then -” Only now he’s disappointed in Jack. Jack wilts under his stare. “Just didn’t feel like it, Captain?”

“Mm,” he says plaintively.

Settling down at the side of the bath just out of arms reach, the Doctor nibbles at a piece of fruit as he thinks. Heart in his eyes, Jack watches him as he swallows another mouthful of the stuff. It’s the thicker, sweet stuff this time; it tastes like coming. The association is surprisingly strong already. “It isn’t that you didn’t want to, clearly,” the Doctor muses. Jack shakes his head. “Something else you’re objecting to. Was it because I left?”

“Mm?” Jack says, not sure. He hadn’t liked that part, certainly.

“I suppose I could ask to have meals delivered. But however nice the room, it does get a bit confining, Jack. You can lay there and get fucked silly and enjoy the afterglow; I’m still mobile.”

“Mm mmm,” Jack protests. He can move. He can probably crawl. He is planning an escape attempt for tomorrow to amuse the Doctor, in any case.

“No, you’re not.” He eats more, and watches Jack; Jack watches him, and swallows more fullness for him to fuck out. Suddenly his brows draw down and Jack whimpers. What _else_ has he done? “Captain, were you trying to make me punish you because I didn’t punish you for hurting me?”

“Mm-mm,” he denies immediately, because it isn’t his place to decide these things. But remembering that bruise spreading over his lover’s ribs Jack finds he does want a punishment quite badly; he needs a way to make up for it, even more than he wants a way to turn the disappointment back into approval. “Mmm?” he ventures.

"Maybe so," the Doctor agrees thoughtfully. "Still, you didn't actually refuse. Did he say anything, Nurse Shua?"

"He offered to make me feel good." The Doctor snickers; Jack feels his face heat. Somehow hearing himself discussed like a beloved pet who has inexplicably chewed a hole in a favourite slipper is more humiliating than all the physical indignities required of him thus far. "I assured him I have found him quite agreeable. He suggested I might fill him up, instead of him having to swallow."

"Thus subverting the entire point of the exercise," the Doctor points out, returning his gaze to Jack with the force of a spotlight. "Hesitance I can forgive, Captain, especially after all I've put you through already this morning. You obeyed in the end, which is what I want. But I won't have you thinking you can _cheat_."

"Mm-mm," Jack promises, shaking his head desperately, "mm-mm, mm-mm." He won't cheat, he can't cheat, he won't even _think_ of not doing exactly what the Doctor says. Under that stern gaze he feels even more stripped, at an inescapable disadvantage stuck naked on his back in a bath with a tentacle stopping his mouth and an alien clutch of eggs laced through his guts. The shudder of arousal that runs through him is not unexpected but still he groans in dismay as he feels his cock begin to fill. It's only going to make whatever is coming more difficult.

“I think,” the Doctor says, “it is time to be done with the bath.” He pats the floor next to him. “Nurse Shua, can you please set him up here? Hands and knees.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Nurse Shua says, and then tentacles are climbing Jack in every direction, a profusion of them twining about his chest, pinning his arms, folding his legs; one slithers snug around his neck, which is new and interesting, one squeezes his cock, because of course he could never get away with that going unnoticed - and then he is tipping forward, feeling like he’s being poured out, his belly dangling with less and less support -

A thick tentacle pushes into his arse and Jack _squeals_.

“Oh, that was very good,” the Doctor says admiringly. “He makes the best noises, doesn’t he? And this is very artistic. You are quite beautiful yourself, all the coiling and colours, and I appreciate the way you’ve left his belly on display.”

 _On display_ in this case means _unsupported_ , as Nurse Shua has hoisted Jack upright now, mouth and arse stoppered, limbs restrained, all just extras attached to the incubator that his abdominal cavity has become. The stretched muscles and skin don’t feel strong enough to hold it all in; Jack wishes he could fold his arms around the bulk of it, keep it from falling off. “Mmm,” he says quietly, unhappily, after swallowing yet more and making it that much worse; not protesting, just… needing direction. Usually he can't get enough of the Doctor admiring him, but too much needs resolution right now.

The Doctor’s eyes return to his face briefly. “You can’t cheat gravity, Captain.”

He ought to have done as the Doctor asked in the first place. “Mm,” he agrees, looking away.

Much faster than Jack would prefer, Nurse Shua tips him the rest of the way over and settles him gently on hands and knees at the Doctor’s side, facing backward. He sways as his belly comes to rest. The eggs take longer, sending queasy shockwaves through his insides, his increasingly full stomach. The tip of a tentacle nudges against the skin of his arse, rounded and smooth and slick; it feels just like the head of an impatient cock only Jack has nowhere for it to go. He whines softly. His belly hurts. He swallows.

“Stay there whilst I eat my breakfast, Captain,” the Doctor orders. “It won’t be easy, but you have a lot to make up for, don’t you?”

Jack hangs his head as much as the tentacle around his neck will allow, locks his joints, and stays. No cheating. No complaining. No failing.

“Are you supporting him at all, Nurse Shua?”

“Only a little,” the nurse says, and Jack feels a warm rush of affection for it. Just the moral support of its close presence is substantial.

“Please don’t, for now. Play with him if you like, but I want him to hold himself up. I want him to do this for me, to show me he _can_ face a difficult task head on. I’m sure he can imagine what happens if he fails.” A whimper escapes Jack at that and the Doctor chuckles. The consequences this time are much more immediate, and sure to be terrifically painful. A few of the tentacles loosen and his task becomes a little harder. His knees already hurt. He tries shifting his weight but it makes his belly shift and Jack moans sickly. It doesn’t take long for the sound of the Doctor eating to become an object of fixation for Jack; every bite is one step closer to being finished, every scrape of his fork on the tray a sign of progress, every close of his jaw another moment Jack has made it through.

“You do look remarkable like that, Captain,” the Doctor says; Jack nearly cries that he is wasting time _speaking_. “All those tentacles in all those places.” The one in his arse pushes in deeper and Jack grunts in surprise. It pulls out only to push in a little further and he groans, legs trembling. Cool fingers slide down the back of his thigh to the sensitive bit behind his knee. Jack startles and shudders and his own reaction sets his belly swinging again; it is a few breaths of panicked effort to keep himself from going down. “That gorgeous round belly. I can’t imagine having so much inside. And you just keep putting more in.”

He fondles Jack’s belly briefly, then continues eating; Jack continues enduring. 

His wrists ache; if his knees aren’t bruised yet they soon will be. His shoulders are strained and it is a constant battle with his hips to keep them from tipping forward with the weight of his belly dangling unsupported, but that bends his spine too far and leads very quickly to radiating pain through his entire body. If he could sink backward a bit he would be more comfortable but he is collared where he is with a comfortable but unyielding hold; and in any case the Doctor told him to _stay_. It isn’t just what’s inside him, either; Nurse Shua is taking advantage of the remit to _play with him_. Not unkindly, and not forcing him to bear the weight of the tentacles on top of his own, but in addition to the steady, slow stream of liquid he must swallow and the tentacle in his arse that never quite lets him forget its presence, a number of others coil over his skin, ring his joints, slide against him in random sweeps of pleasure that don’t allow him to disconnect from the pain of his position. Collared, gagged, impaled, and exposed, he might as well be a prize animal on display.

But no, he is not a prize anything. He hurt the Doctor. This is his opportunity to make amends. Jack can’t always silence the whimpers that rise in his throat, but he tries very hard to be good.

Every muscle in his body is trembling, strained and overwhelmed, by the time the Doctor sets his tray aside. Lost in a contemplation of the inclusions in the stone of the floor, Jack is refusing to acknowledge the fact that he is likely to collapse any moment. The Doctor expected him to succeed in this task; therefore it is possible, therefore he will accomplish it. No other options exist.

A strength he can't fight tightens around him, folds his limbs, lifts him away from the patiently waiting threat of the floor. "Shh, shh, Captain, it's alright, it's over. You did it." Cool hands cradle his face, cool lips touch his gently. His eyes are blurred with tears. "It's alright now, everything forgiven, shh. My brave Captain."

Jack collapses into relief and sobs, held tight and safe and loved.


	9. Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Jack's needs met, the Doctor indulges himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: sub space, stuffing, lots of tentacles, and emetophilia again, but mostly belly worship and praise. This one is what the Doctor does once he's pushed Jack as far as he needs to be pushed. It's so soft.
> 
> Still not sure how long it will be. As ever, comments feed the muse.

They dry him and take him to a soft place, and tip him back again, and set him deep into a drift of pillows that somehow both swallows him down and supports his spine just as well as Nurse Shua has done - which is lucky because he has lost the buoyancy of the water now and the weight of his glutted intestines presses down with crushing force on his lower spine and pelvis. He spreads his legs awkwardly and tries to shift and only succeeds in jamming the plug back up inside him slightly. He whines and twitches and resigns himself to immobility; it feels like an impossible effort to move his arms from their indents in the pillows. Wetness trickles down his inner thigh from where his cock lays. He swallows again, and moans. He doesn’t open his eyes.

“Rest, Captain,” comes the reassuringly close voice of his lover. “I’m right here, and I’ll stay right here, and you have done a marvelous thing and I’m proud of you.” His hand strokes Jack’s forehead, wearing away the relief along with the anxiety, the pain and the satisfaction and the heartache until all Jack has left is calm acceptance. “All I want you to do is rest and keep drinking, as slowly as you want. Aside from that you may do as you like, but you needn’t do anything at all. I’m right here. I won’t leave you.”

The heavy stillness is far too pervasive for Jack to consider nodding. The Doctor’s hand never stops moving over him, and eventually he begins speaking with Nurse Shua, but Jack doesn’t attend to the topic; he breathes, and finally he sucks at the tentacle again to fill his mouth with the sweet stuff.

“Yes,” the Doctor coaxes softly, fingers brushing feather-light over Jack’s lips, down his neck. “Just like that, Jack, swallow for me now.” There is no hint of resistance left in him. He swallows, feels his esophagus force it down, stuff it determinedly into the bulging container of his own innards. Jack moans as a wave of tightness ripples through him; the Doctor moans as well and chases the flicker of it with fingertips and tongue over the taut skin of Jack’s belly. The tongue continues to drift over the expanse of him as he breathes, punctuated by kisses so light Jack almost thinks he is imagining them, if it weren’t for the cool breath he can also feel, the press of a nose, the tickle of hair. Somewhere in the vicinity of his navel, the Doctor whispers, “I hope that was enough for you, Jack, because I can’t…” He makes his way up to Jack’s chest, where he may press his lips in a kiss they can both feel. “There was nothing to forgive.”

 _Love you_ , Jack thinks, and sucks another mouthful.

“I know,” the Doctor whispers, broken. His forehead presses against Jack’s. “Swallow for me, Captain.” Jack does, and it tastes like joy and hurts all the way down.

As the Doctor pulls away Jack pries his eyelids open to see, wishing he would stay. His field of view is constrained by the curve of his back and whatever he is sunk in, which gives him a strange kind of double-vision; his belly is the centre of his existence right now, but with eyes open he feels pulled back up to his usual perch behind them and he can't even see it from there. It’s disorientating. He closes his eyes again.

“It’s alright, Jack, I’m right here. I’ll look for you, alright?” Fingertips slide cool around the bottom arc of his belly, tingling electric on sensitive skin. Jack moans, _wanting_ though he has no idea what he wants. Setting his palm flat, the Doctor drags it back the other way, the dry friction of it a delight after the long bath. “You are… it’s unbelievable, really, how full you are. I didn’t truly get a good look at it until Nurse Shua hauled you out of the bath - and that was a magnificent look, I don’t think I’ll ever forget that, Jack, hanging there dripping in this glorious chaos of tentacles, head thrown back like some ecstatic icon, impaled and trapped and completely surrendered to it and there in the middle, _this_ -” Both hands now, reaching around to follow his circumference. “This magnificent perversity, this desecration of your beautiful body you've allowed me to inflict upon you. And now, laid out like this, immobilised under the weight of it and still attached, still open, still taking _more_ -” A thumb rubs roughly across Jack’s lips, around the tentacle, then presses in alongside it. Jack sucks at it and ends up with a mouthful of sweet stuff; the Doctor groans deep and needy and then his thumb is gone and his tongue is shoving inside, stretching Jack's lips, licking at the tentacle, tasting what he has caused Jack to be filled with.

Jack wants more of all of it, and wishes his limbs were not all gone to water so he could hold his lover close; as it is the best he can do is moan encouragingly and try not to choke. The Doctor pulls away too soon, laps up the rivulets he has spilled with his attack. His thumb is moving in slow strokes down Jack’s neck. Jack forces his eyes open again for a moment, just to see that gaze like the deep dark, consuming. “Do this for me, Jack,” the Doctor breathes, intent, _hungry_. Eyes falling closed again, Jack does, and feels himself expand just that little bit more. “Oh, Captain - I need to _see_ you -”

The pillows and whatever Jack is on dip and shift and then the Doctor’s hands are at his knees, pushing them outward one at a time, moving Jack’s overwhelmed body gently despite his impatience. He settles between them, pushes a knee further up and out. “Nurse Shua -” he says, and, “Of course,” Nurse Shua replies, and then soft, strong tentacles coil about Jack’s thighs and take whatever strain there might have been.

“Yes,” the Doctor breathes, sounding shaken, “like that.” Leaning forward, he lays open-mouthed kisses up Jack’s belly until he reaches the apex above his navel, where he leaves his lips against skin and sucks hard. The jolt it sends through Jack leaves him crying out in muffled noises between panting breaths. “As much as I like making it all come back out, the thought that it _can’t_ is nearly as thrilling. To stuff you, and stuff you, and stuff you more, and watch you _take it_ , watch your belly grow so much bigger than I thought possible…” Jack moans eagerly as a hand finds the plug, touches the sensitive skin tight around it. Forced out of him by the pressure but with nowhere to go in his current position, it is a significant contributor to his immobilisation. Moving it shifts everything inside. “Another mouthful now, Captain.”

It doesn’t occur to him to protest; he is long past that. He sucks obediently, and his mouth fills, and he sends it down, only he doesn’t manage the entire mouthful and a bit trickles down his cheek. The Doctor moans, reaches up to slide an unsteady finger through it.

“Another,” he says, and Jack tries, but so soon after the last one his throat locks up and it spills out of his lips, over his chin and down his neck in a slick, humiliating cascade. The Doctor grunts, is silent for a moment; Jack can feel him moving, hear his breath becoming harsh in a familiar cadence. It doesn’t excuse his failure, but the success of providing his lover pleasure soothes the sting. "How is that even better?" the Doctor gasps in breathless disbelief. "Full to overflowing, Jack, laid out for me like a feast, immobile and nearly insensible, and I don’t… do you even _have_ limits? One more, Jack, one more, please."

Jack doesn’t know whether his throat will work this time, but he thinks maybe the Doctor doesn’t mind either way. He likes to see the plug at the bottom; maybe he likes to see the overflow at the top as evidence Jack is full all the way up. One step at a time, then. Jack suckles gently, tongue working against the pleasantly thick roundness that is nonetheless much too mobile to be mistaken for a cock; his mouth fills with the silky stuff, and he takes a breath. _Down_ , he urges his throat, _down, down, down_ \- and then he swallows, and he has to fight for every millimetre but it goes down. He can feel himself begin to tremble as his stomach expands yet again into space that doesn’t exist. The Doctor is touching him, fingers pressing too hard as he grunts softly and then he groans Jack’s name like a prayer and wetness spatters stretched and aching skin and Jack knows he has done well.

The fullness is everything, then, for a time. 

It pushes outward at every edge, but Jack is _good_ , he contains it all. 

It aches inside him, ebbs and flows with his shallow breaths.

He is full.

He is good.

The voice calls him back, eventually. “Jack,” it whispers, drifting in like smoke on the breeze. “Come back to me now, Jack.” Hands slide over his inner thighs, across his hips, up his rounded flanks; a slow rain of kisses falls over his equator. His belly is full; his arse is open and full; his mouth is open and unforgivably empty.

“Uh,” he points out hopefully.

“Yes,” the voice agrees. “Well. I thought better to let you breathe unimpeded. But I suppose -” The pillows by his shoulders dip and fabric brushes his belly and the Doctor bumps against him hard enough he sees stars behind his eyelids for a moment but then his lips meet Jack’s and his tongue slips inside and Jack is full again, full with a part of _him_ which is the best way to be full. When he pushes himself away Jack whines disconsolately, nevermind he had barely been able to breathe, and reaches for him. “Hush, Captain. I’d have happily left you there, filled to the brim like that, but Nurse Shua says you mustn’t stay on your back too long or it will damage you. Blood flow and kidneys and whatnot. So instead… you’re going to be artistic for me again.” His hands catch Jack's, weave fingers together with comforting strength; he bends to kiss Jack’s fingers. “I’m right here,” he whispers; then he lays all four of their hands against the hard swell of Jack's belly. "Let me show you how lovely you are, Jack."

Somehow feeling the taut fullness under his skin - feeling _his_ skin, with _his_ hands - is a vastly different experience than being manipulated by the Doctor's hands alone. Eyes still closed, Jack lets his lover direct his exploration, presses hard enough he can feel the complete lack of give, not so hard it hurts. His skin is hot and tight, stretched like a drumhead; his muscles are strained to their limits. His intestines are bloated things, coiled and stuffed in every bit of space that can be forced open inside him, and the eggs sit in the midst of it all, hard lumps kept safe and warm by his body around them. As the Doctor helps him come to know the outer limits of what he has mostly experienced from the inside, Jack begins to wonder about the eggs coming _out;_ they are so deep, so solidly ensconced. There must be a plan, but everything he has experienced so far suggests that feeling nervous about it is entirely sensible.

Their hands come back to the place where his body deforms shockingly, that abrupt hill arcing out from his ribcage, where the Doctor pushes his hands down harder. Jack makes a queasy little grunt as a tremor runs through his overfull stomach.

“Yes,” the Doctor whispers. “I can hardly bear to let you up, Captain, looking at you spread out here like… like a sacrifice.” Gently he untangles his fingers from Jack’s, leaves Jack’s hands lying heavy against his belly as cool fingers slide down, and down, and down. “I should lay you in flowers, anoint you with honey.” All the way down to sweep nearly forceless along Jack’s thighs, still held open, then back up. One hand wraps his balls in a tingling swirl and slips lower, the other slides up his cock as if it were no different from any other bit of skin - and indeed it all feels of a piece in Jack’s mind as he follows the Doctor’s voice into a hazy, passive place. Lips against firmly stuffed belly, the Doctor’s barely audible words send a slow shiver through Jack. “Eat you up.” He shifts around again and then it’s his _mouth_ slipping down wet and eager over Jack’s cock.

“Ah, Doc -!” Jack chokes out in surprise. Immobile or not, his hips jerk enthusiastically and the motion tears through him in a shock of pain.

The Doctor pulls away. “Stop that, Captain. I’ll do as I like to you. You don’t do anything.” Jack obediently does nothing as the Doctor mouths at his balls, licks and presses and holds them with delicate suction; but when that tongue moves down to probe at his stretched rim he can’t stop the pleading whine. He doesn’t squirm, he doesn’t writhe, as the Doctor laps at him, slowly making his way back up, as he works a hand under the plug to press it gently in, but he spreads his hands over his fullness and sobs quietly and remembers that the Doctor has had several more orgasms today than Jack has been permitted.

“So close already,” the Doctor marvels, replacing his mouth on Jack's cock with an equally merciless hand. “Are you a willing sacrifice, Captain? Will you beg me for the privilege?”

“Please,” Jack begs, because he likes when the Doctor tells him _no_. “Please, _please_.”

“Not yet.” Finally opening his eyes, Jack finds the Doctor knelt up, looking him over with a proprietary air. He smiles when he sees Jack watching. “I have plans. I’m glad you’ve found your voice again, Captain, but you're not going to need it. You’re going to be a beautiful fountain for me.”

Jack’s abused stomach clenches before his mind can make sense of the words. Mildly disturbed to find himself so easily trained, Jack swallows it down resolutely. He _will_ get to come, then; at least there's that.

Catching the swallow, the Doctor laughs. "Eager, are you, Captain?"

"No," Jack says, not sure whether it's true. Turning his head, he burrows his face into the mound of soft pillow to hide - as if the rest of him isn't sprawled out loose and open, entirely exposed and vulnerable to anything the Doctor might choose to do.

“Yes,” the Doctor corrects. “You’re always eager to do what I want, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jack whispers, lightheaded with confused arousal. He _does_ want it, gods help him. Stomach churning, Jack fights it down again.

“Very good,” the Doctor praises; the proud, loving warmth of it hits Jack like a shot of pure dopamine. “Nurse Shua? Just like in the bath, please, I’ve never seen anything quite so…” He shudders gently; Jack peeks up at him to find his lower lip caught tight between his teeth, eyes unfocused.

Not so far gone he can’t find a hint of smugness, Jack lets his hands fall to the pillows so as not to obscure the view. “That good?”

Dark and endless, the Doctor’s eyes seem to swallow him down. “I’ve got the camera set up, Jack, I’m recording, and then you’ll see -” He swallows harshly. “You’ll see why I can’t stop thinking of it.”

Jack can’t tease, in the face of that desire. Instead he moans as Nurse Shua prods gently at him, thick blunt tentacle tips sliding slick against his belly, his arse, along the crease of his thigh like cocks eager for their turn at him. One coils around his neck, lifts and tightens just enough to be exciting; as his head tips back the one by his mouth forces its way in, stretching his jaw with a challenging thickness. The way the Doctor moans at that is glorious, breathtaking if he had any breath to spare. Then he is being raised, held firm by his arms, shoulders, chest, enveloped in a smooth rush as more of him comes free from the pillows, belly tilting forward again in that vertiginous drop. Reflexively Jack tries to catch it but his arms are completely immobilised, comfortably held away from his body but immovable. His legs likewise are folded away, comfortable but useless, spread wide around his aching cock and the plug that keeps him securely stuffed. He can barely twist his shoulders; he can’t look down. Jack whimpers as his overstrained abdominal muscles slowly take up not only the pressure from inside but the weight as well, as the eggs within him shift and settle; as his stomach tries again to make its offering. Pushing it down, Jack concentrates on making today a very good day for whoever has claimed his mouth - then remembers with vague confusion that it’s all Nurse Shua, and hopes he is doing well anyway.

As he is hauled upright Jack catches a glimpse of the Doctor knelt on the floor, very obvious erection tenting his trousers, watching Jack with open awe lighting his upturned face. He wonders if there will be pictures of that, as well. 

He hopes not. It’s too delicate for that.

“Have I arranged him to your delight, Doctor?” Nurse Shua asks.

“Oh, yes,” the Doctor breathes. Jack moans softly, awash in the satisfaction of providing such pleasure. “He’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Despite holding him immobile, the tentacles are never quite still, flexing and pulsing against him everywhere, sliding between his legs to ignite sensitive skin, pushing at his plug - which irrationally makes Jack tense around it lest it come loose and let all his stuffing out. One squeezes and tugs at his balls, one climbs his cock in a tightening spiral that leaves him gasping when it moves. His hips won’t stop trying to thrust, and although they have nowhere to go the twitching is enough to jostle his belly, the only part of him left free. Held suspended there, Jack moans around the thick tentacle in his mouth in increasing desperation, struggling because he _can_. Because he is safe now. He won’t be allowed to hurt himself.

“Is he well, Doctor? He didn’t struggle so last time.”

Hands cup his belly reverently, a little support for the painfully strained muscles. “He’s well. Last time was… very different, for him.” The Doctor nuzzles against him, probes at his navel with a firm tongue. “Do you feel adored, Jack?” he murmurs, the vibrations of his words sinking into Jack’s skin. His hands press too hard, slide up, and Jack’s moans turn to muffled wails as the contents of his stomach press upward as well. A low, hungry chuckle chases across his skin. “You are. I adore you. Now, and always. The way you are, the things you do, the things you let me do to you.”

The hands retreat; Jack can’t convince his stomach to. “Shh, Captain, just relax. Don’t fight it.” With intense relief Jack relaxes into the irresistible manipulations of his body. He teeters on the edge of both orgasm and emesis, and nothing at all is up to him. When the Doctor’s hands start upward again the push against his plug becomes a stretching penetration; instead of coming Jack goes completely limp, breath escaping in mewling little cries until his throat is stopped by the tentacle in his mouth pushing in deeper as well.

When the invading tide recedes his attention returns to the breathtakingly intense squeeze and slide on his cock; when it flows back in he is swept away.

Smooth friction on his lips, warm fullness in his mouth, tight pressure in his arse, and everything is wide and slow like a river of molasses, bearing Jack along on a continuously cresting edge. He moans; he can’t move. Tentacles press, and stretch, and stroke, light him up; heavy hands shift the things inside in a ponderous, pounding beat like the heartbeat of a world. Jack has always known himself to be a plaything of the gods. He feels grateful for the gentle care, right now.

He is coming undone.

It doesn’t happen suddenly; only the brightness inside mounts into something almost unbearable, and then the tide comes in and fills him, finally, to overflowing.

“All of it, Jack, give me all of it,” the Doctor begs, hands spread in a supportive cradle below Jack’s painfully tightening bulge - and of course, of course he would, but it is entirely out of his control, isn’t it? He empties in a surprisingly peaceful manner, thick heaves of the stuff he is filled with rising in his throat, filling his mouth, overflowing from his lips like a gushing spring as the accompanying orgasm rolls him gently under.

Head lolling to the side as it is tipped carefully upright, Jack can feel the remnants of his gastric ejaculation drip from his lips. He can’t muster the willpower for something so ambitious as spitting, or attempting to clear his throat, but he opens his eyes and groans uncertainly as he feels himself settle to the floor, no longer suspended. The Doctor stares back at him, eyes wide as an owl, pupils blown delightfully, dark flush covering every bit of skin Jack can see. His shirt and face are spattered with Jack’s come, of one kind or another. He says nothing as he settles Jack’s belly on his thighs, as he raises arms coated to the elbow in thick nutrient broth. Gaze flickering to them curiously, he licks the back of his hand and pulls a face.

“Better without the stomach acid.” Eyes returning to Jack, his face softens and he reaches to cup Jack’s cheek. He opens his mouth, then closes it again after a moment; his thumb hooks gently into Jack’s mouth and pulls his lips open to let the rest of the stuff drool out. Utterly content, Jack just watches from beneath heavy eyelids. Wiping off the worst of it, the Doctor leans in for a kiss that doesn’t last nearly long enough. “In a moment,” he promises softly as he pulls away. “Bath again, I think.”

Mercifully, Nurse Shua doesn’t change Jack’s orientation again until the well-supported tip to the side to lay him in bed; nothing at all is asked of him, in fact, and he happily lets himself be cared for. Once he is laid in the ridiculously comfortable bed again, pillows shifted to support his left leg and arm and wedged behind his back, the Doctor props himself over Jack’s outstretched right arm and smiles down at him. Jack smiles back in what he suspects is a rather besotted way.

"You win," he points out.

Eyebrows arching inquisitively, the Doctor glances over Jack's naked, well-used body. "Do I? I rather agree, on the whole, but how in particular?"

"You made me want it. You made me _like_ it, even, this time."

“How very easy to train you are, Captain,” he murmurs, his face an odd mixture of loving adoration and dark hunger; and both of those are fine by Jack. Well satisfied, he turns his face up as the Doctor grips his chin gently and curls his right arm up to pull his lover close for a reprise of the previous kiss that is in all respects superior. No hint of the hunger shows in the way the Doctor’s lips press softly on his, the way his tongue drags around Jack’s mouth, the way he moans when Jack tastes him in return; only the love, and Jack can feel it soaking in until he feels as full of it as he is with everything else. Until he feels so heavy with it he simply sinks into the bed.

Cool fingertips brush his hair back, ghost over his shoulder, side, the top curve of his huge belly. “Rest, Captain. I’ve pushed you hard this morning. I or Nurse Shua will stay with you all the time, we won’t leave you alone. Do you need anything?” Without opening his eyes, Jack opens his mouth invitingly; the Doctor laughs. He slips two fingers in and lets Jack suck on them for a little while, then takes them back. Jack pouts. “I don’t want you gagged right now, you may need to say something. Later,” he promises, and Jack subsides, appeased.

He listens to the rustle of movement in the room, and lets the quiet conversation flow over him, and drifts, shifting every once in a while just to feel the fullness inside resist. He doesn’t think about later; just the mindless, replete _now_. He dozes, and when he is touched he doesn’t know whether he is dreaming; the Doctor’s voice is that same loving murmur and he thinks it doesn’t matter. Stretched and aching, weighted down and made helpless by the eggs he is keeping safe and protected, Jack is safe and protected in turn.


	10. Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack needs some help to be the best nest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: consensual somnophilia, restraints, tentacle-as-gag, gagging, begging, force feeding, pain and rough handling, use of safeword. Medical-ish scenario, mostly separate from the sexy scenario. Lots of feeling up the eggs. Caretaking, but not the soft kind.

Later comes in fits and starts. Jack dozes, maybe dreams. In one of the dreams Jack wakes to, the Doctor has replaced the pillows behind Jack’s back with himself and is making use of the self-lubricating cocksleeve that has been installed in his captive lover. He has pushed Jack’s left leg up so it rests on top of his belly; when Jack tries to move it the Doctor holds it in place. Soft kisses fall against his shoulders. “Shh, Jack, I’m right here, just rest,” he murmurs.

The pulsing pressure in his arse never falters in its rhythm and Jack gives in to the hazy satisfaction of being used for his lover’s enjoyment. Nothing he needs to do, nothing he needs to be but this sleepy fucktoy, well loved and well cared for. He can’t feel the Doctor’s cock, just the stretch as the plug inside him expands and contracts, just the Doctor's legs flexing against the back of his thighs, just the hinge of the Doctor's hips aligning smoothly with his arse every stroke, then pulling away. It is pleasurable, but not enough to get a rise out of him; his leg is heavy against his belly, but not enough to hurt. He falls back to sleep before anything changes, lulled by the steady beat.

He wakes later and thinks, with an immediate spike of fear, that he is alone; then can't think why he thought so as tentacles tighten gently around him. 

"The Doctor has left the room to eat, Jack," Nurse Shua says quietly. "Do not be alarmed."

"Are you psychic too?" Jack asks muzzily.

"Not at all. However, I am able to monitor and interpret your physical state with a high degree of accuracy."

Yawning, Jack shifts around slightly to restore circulation to his limbs. "Lots of practice, I suppose."

"Some," Nurse Shua agrees, far too polite to say how many arses - or other orifices, Jack supposes - it has stuffed full of eggs. "And a good teacher. Humans are a member of a large group of species with similar responses. Perhaps if you return, you will consent to allow me to teach another about you."

The thought of being displayed like this for twice the tentacles to examine, probe at, slither over and around and inside, draws a moan and a stir of interest from Jack. "Sure," he says, aware his easily-read physiological reactions are betraying his attempt at a casual tone but not quite caring. "Yeah, I'd be up for that. If it's you," he adds, slightly more cautiously.

The tentacle tip at the corner of his mouth nudges gently; Jack smiles and licks it as the coils covering his back writhe to the effect of a comforting massage. "It must be me, that I may describe what of your reactions are human and what are individually Jack, and what each signify."

"Then yes. That sounds good." Why, when Nurse Shua has more than enough tentacles to envelop and penetrate him quite thoroughly, it should seem more exciting to have those tentacles belong to two separate beings, Jack isn't sure; but he does find it so. He shifts again, hoping to feel that pleasant pressure against every part of him, but instead the hard lumps of eggs move more than he is expecting and he whimpers unhappily. He feels hollowed out, battered and bruised.

Tentacles brush carefully across his skin. “Are you well?”

“Hurts,” Jack admits. Arching his back, he tries to put things back the way they were, but it just makes it worse. “Help, please,” he begs, twisting in increasing pain as his insides fail to settle to a comfortable configuration. Tentacles tighten about him, holding him still, lifting him as the nurse slowly turns his belly downward. The worst of the pain goes as the weight shifts, leaving skin and muscle hanging taut and full as the heavy coil of eggs slides to an easier rest inside him. 

“Is this better?”

It’s not comfortable - it’s very far from comfortable - but it is better. After a moment to catch his breath, Jack manages, “Yes. Thanks.” Still holding his arms captive against his chest, Nurse Shua folds his legs and arranges them in a supportive position beneath him. Nothing supports his belly, which feels like it’s been filled with stones. Jack pants shallowly, trying to cause as little motion as possible.

The door opens, and closes, and the Doctor’s startled exclamation is a welcome distraction. “Jack? What happened?”

“Your Jack woke up, and encountered significant pain upon attempting to move,” Nurse Shua explains. The bed dips and a cool hand glides across Jack’s lower back, over his aching belly. “This position minimises potentially damaging interactions.”

The hand lifts away and Jack whimpers, but then the Doctor is bending down into his view, concerned eyes flickering across his face. "Alright, Jack?"

He could get used to it, probably - could even come to enjoy this much more visceral experience of incubation - but the Doctor couldn't have as much fun with him. This is the wrong kind of pain for erotic enjoyment. Jack shakes his head. 

"Not alright yet," the Doctor confirms. "Still in bad pain?" It doesn't have to be severe to be bad; but in any case Jack is not, held still, belly down. He shakes his head again. "Alright," his lover says, relaxing a bit. He drops a kiss on Jack's forehead and sits back. "We'll get it fixed. Nurse Shua?"

Confident in the Doctor’s care of him, Jack relaxes as more tentacles encircle his aching midsection, moulding to his contours without pressing. The cool slither of them feels wonderful against his stretched skin, the way they bear up some of the weight such a relief Jack finds his head drooping forward into his lover’s hands as he moans quietly, eyes closed.

“There you are,” the Doctor murmurs, supporting hand under Jack’s left cheek as he strokes the other. “Just like that, Captain, let us take care of you.”

“It is likely he simply needs more fluids,” Nurse Shua says quietly. “Nonetheless I must be certain nothing inside has been damaged or twisted. The exam will cause him discomfort.”

The fingers stroking his face press a little harder, requiring Jack’s attention. “Jack. If the bad pain comes back you must let me know _immediately_. Do you understand?” Jack nods. “Words, please.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jack whispers, without opening his eyes.

“He will not be able to speak,” the nurse cautions, and Jack knows what _that_ means. He opens his mouth compliantly. There is a low chuckle that kindles a needy warmth in Jack’s chest, then the dry rasp of the Doctor’s thumb circles his parted lips, dips inside to meet his hopeful tongue. Jack shudders and a breathless noise escapes as his lover grips his chin, pulls him open wider, offering him up for easier penetration.

“He can still tell me.”

A tentacle glides between Jack’s lips, sweet and slippery-smooth, fills his mouth, slides across his tongue and down his throat in a silky rush. His moan of pleasure is cut off almost before it begins and Jack doesn’t fight the various conflicting reflexes set off in the wake of the new intrusion, just tries to relax as the Doctor cups his throat to feel the motion inside. The clenching of his stomach sets the eggs to knocking about again, uncomfortable but not in the bad way. Held safe and secure, Jack allows himself to drift deeper into the experience.

The feel of the tentacle settling into his stomach is just as brilliantly strange as last time, the solid heft and mobility of it giving it a very different feel than simply being filled with liquid as it pushes his abdominal wall out until he feels entirely full again; he hadn't quite realised he wasn't. It pumps in and out a few times, just enough to tease, then stills and lets Jack’s protesting throat still as well. He is filled from end to end now, held open all the way through, a convoluted container moulded and reformed to new purposes. His jaw is stretched but not uncomfortably, his airway maintained by the clever appendage. He can’t shake the image of being worn like an inelegant glove. Cracking open an eyelid, Jack sees the Doctor watching him with a fond if slightly quizzical smile. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Captain,” he says. His fingers trace delicately up Jack's throat, along his lips where they meet brown-purple tentacle, up to brush hair from his forehead. "I never could have imagined… the way it pulses in your throat is mesmerising. The way you swallow it down so eagerly. The way those remarkable lips of yours stretch around it." Jack smiles back at him as best he can; then his breath comes out in a startled half-voiced noise as another thin tentacle slithers into his arse. The Doctor looks up in brief concern, but it turns into a smirk as Jack twitches at the feel of the plug expanding surprisingly far inside him. “You were made for this, weren’t you. I bet you hate modern medicine, all that hands-off scanning. No one touching you…”

Jack nuzzles into the hand supporting his head, watching as the Doctor looks him over with soft eyes. He probably had been a bit touch-starved before this, but it has been everything he could have hoped.

“If you are ready, I will begin,” Nurse Shua says.

Jack meets his lover’s questioning gaze, then closes his eyes and lies still. “Ready,” the Doctor says.

At first it is only precisely applied pressure on the skin of his belly, a nudge from the side, a bit of lift; nothing objectionable, although a prod directly into his navel makes him twitch. He moans queasily when the tentacle in his stomach also prods at him from the inside. 

"Is he in pain?" Nurse Shua asks.

Still petting Jack with gentle, restless fingers, the Doctor answers for him. "He's alright. Go on."

The coils around his belly tighten all at once, just slightly, which drives his breath from him in a surprised grunt; he barely manages a new breath before they begin to constrict in a slow wave beginning at his ribs and traveling downward. Helpless against it, he bucks and kicks involuntarily as once again he is made much too aware of the contours of the eggs stuffed into his gut. 

“My apologies, Jack. Please try to keep still,” Nurse Shua says, not stopping. Attempting to protest the impossible directive, Jack whines between shallow breaths.

"Captain," the Doctor says dangerously. Fingers clench in his hair and Jack stills. 

Maybe not completely impossible.

When phrased in a certain way.

This must be how a bag of marbles feels, kneaded by an anxious hand. Completely enveloped as he is, the pressure is intense but very different from when he was being filled and stretched to his limits. He doesn't feel overinflated anymore, or as if he might pop, and it has certainly soothed the strange hollow feeling he awoke with. Every nerve ending in his body is informing him just how _not_ hollow he is. Between the shifting eggs, his creaking bones, and the merciless coils surrounding him, Jack feels as though his insides are being ground to a paste.

Perhaps the oddest thing about it is that it _doesn’t_ hurt. _Discomfort_ seems to have been accurate instead of euphemistic, this time.

Trying not to squirm, Jack pants and groans and whines in short, sharp bursts as the wave of pressure crosses his equator and travels lower, packing everything tighter into his pelvic region until he feels an urgent need for every kind of release he can imagine, absolutely none of which are available to him. The various sharp and aching and throbbing discomforts ease as the constriction begins to travel upward again and Jack becomes aware of cool fingers brushing tears from his face, a soothing voice murmuring senseless words amidst the roar of his pulse in his ears. He wants very badly to move, press himself back onto the fullness in his arse, make the tentacle filling his throat move again in that violating slide, but he has no leverage at all to do so - and the Doctor has ordered him be still. Pushing his face into the supporting hand as much as he can, Jack groans, begging comfort even if relief is out of his reach.

The Doctor’s other hand slides over Jack’s hair and settles heavy at the back of his neck, thumb massaging the ache beginning around the hinge of his jaw. That seductive dark amusement fills the Doctor’s voice as he says, “Soon, Captain. Keep still a little longer and then I’ll let you abuse yourself to your heart’s content. No,” he adds, no longer in Jack’s direction, “he’s quite alright. He’s enjoying it.”

 _Enjoy_ seems a strong choice of words, but Jack supposes it isn’t actually _wrong_. Everything has gone a bit hazy, the pleasure and the pressure and the need as well, the movement inside and out contrasting starkly with his own firmly restrained stillness. His breaths are shallow, and he is beginning to forget why he needs to make the effort to take them when there is a sudden twinge of pain on his right, deep inside. It vibrates up his spine like a plucked string, unignorable. Startled, Jack draws a deeper breath which only makes it worse, and then the slow wave of constriction turns it crushing.

Thoughts gone all to red, Jack can hear the Doctor crying, "Stop! Stop, that's the bad part." The pain eases slightly but he still feels himself trying to curl forward, trying to protect the wound, trying to escape whatever is attacking him where he has no defences. The hand that was petting him is gone - gone to pry at the coils around his belly, he realizes dimly, as fingernails scrape against his skin.

"Let go, Nurse Shua, he's still hurting. He wants to stop. You're hurting him!"

The tentacle up his arse is pulsing and pushing; his guts are screaming. The movement in his stomach has turned slow and precise and nothing at all like gentle, making adjustments to his insides that make him wish he could scream too. His body is still too interested in curling up to attempt any other movement. Absorbed in the sick-making sensation, Jack doesn't hear whatever Nurse Shua's answer is, but the Doctor's hand returns to his face to cup his cheek and pull his eyelid open. Jack attempts to focus on his lover's worried face.

"It won't be long, Jack, alright? Nothing damaged, just a misaligned egg." The pain goes as he speaks and Jack gasps as he finds himself able to relax again. A shimmering trail of relief slithers through him as the thin tentacle wound through his guts retracts. Forehead still drawn in tense lines, the Doctor smiles down at him. "There you are. Shh, rest for a little. Almost done."

He lets Jack's eyelid fall closed and kisses his forehead and returns to petting him, slow, soothing. The thing in his belly squirms and the eggs shift and the smooth tentacles enveloping and invading him pulse and press against his skin and Jack feels himself consumed.

He has never before felt quite so irrelevant to the disposition of his body. He has been helpless before, at varying levels of consent; he has been dissociated; he has been used for pleasure, for revenge, for amusement, for ammunition. But this feeling of being deeply cared for and completely disregarded at the same time is new. When the Doctor handles him it is as a lover, whatever they may play at; when Nurse Shua handles him, it is with the meticulous care of a bird for its nest, or a new parent for a nursery. Jack _will_ be the best nest. Nurse Shua will ensure it.

Surrendering to that determined care, Jack finds, is exquisitely restful.

“Jack,” the Doctor says, some time later. Jack breathes, and feels, and listens. "Water next, Jack, just water and electrolytes. You'll have to have quite a bit, and more often than Nurse Shua was expecting. I suppose I oughtn't be surprised your body is unusually good at that as well. You just didn't have quite enough volume inside when you woke to keep things from moving around. It won't happen again."

No wonder he had felt strange then. Jack scrapes together enough coherence to think vaguely in his lover's direction, _Hurt?_

A beloved hand touches his face, thumb tracing his lips lightly. The sharp, familiar scent of the Doctor's skin seeps into Jack's nose, easily drowning out the strangely neutral scent of the tentacle that fills his throat and lies heavy on his tongue. The Doctor's voice is not quite steady when he answers, "Yes, Jack. I'm sorry. Not as bad as when they were stretching you, but like that."

That kind of hurt is alright. Jack sighs, accepting what's coming.

Cool breath washes over his face as the Doctor kisses his forehead, his closed eye, the corner of his open lips. "Once your stomach is full, Nurse Shua will move you to the support frame. Keep you still and comfortable." It will be good to have the padded cradle back, Jack thinks; Nurse Shua is still carrying most of his weight but his hips and knees are beginning to protest their position. "Do whatever you need to do, Jack, cry or kick or squirm or - anything, Nurse Shua says it's safe to do whatever you need. He understands," the Doctor adds, over Jack's shoulder. "Go ahead."

The mass lodged in Jack’s throat, still for quite some time now, pulses and slips outward slightly and all Jack’s hard-earned relaxation disappears as a violent retch seizes his entire body, straining his abdominal muscles nearly to breaking and forcing the plug out of his arse in a burst of blinding pain. The movement halts, replaced by gentle sweeps of sensation across his back and a hand stroking his hair, until Jack goes limp again; then it pulses and squirms and moves again and the deep pull in the pit of his stomach has Jack heaving again before he can think of resisting. It stops. Jack gasps for breath, tears coursing down his cheeks and making it even harder to breathe. His arse hurts with a deep, throbbing ache that usually means he’s torn something.

“Can this be made pleasurable for him?” comes Nurse Shua’s voice. “There is substantial length to extract.”

The Doctor hums thoughtfully; Jack groans, not at all certain he _wants_ it to be pleasurable. A hand cups his throat and he gags at the pressure. “Probably not yet,” the Doctor concludes, which would be a worrying proclamation had Jack more capacity available for worrying. “Just take it slowly, maybe he can relax into it. Try for me, Captain.”

The tentacle moves again, twisting sickeningly in his stretched stomach, sliding slick and heavy up his throat and over his tongue and between his lips, and again Jack loses the battle before he can begin it as his entire body spasms in an attempt to rid itself of the foreign mass inside. He tries to be good, tries to relax, but he can’t separate himself from the impulses wringing his body. “It’s alright, Jack,” the Doctor assures him, stroking his bulging throat with a gentle thumb. The hand holding his head is steady. “It’s alright if you can’t. Shh, don’t worry, nothing you do will change anything. This is all for me, Jack, I know you can take this for me. Not much more now.”

But he is lying, must be lying - though Jack will take it anyway, whatever it is for as long as it lasts - because Jack is so full and he can feel his fullness being stolen, drawn out into visceral thread as his belly is emptied of its contents in a slow pull he can do nothing to resist. It worms from his mouth in thick, slow pulses, so notably out of time with his body’s increasingly violent theatrics that Jack is left with no illusions about his control of anything going on here. He can barely manage a breath between the painful heaves.

He can feel the eggs knocking about inside his belly, incompressible lumps churning his guts with every contraction but placed so precisely by Nurse Shua they do him no injury even so; he hopes he can’t injure _them_. The pain of his overworked abdominal muscles is harrowing, and the plug fucking him in time with his convulsions elevates the whole experience to a stratospheric level of horrifying, but the worst thing - the very worst thing -

He can taste sweet slime and his own stomach acid on the thing crawling up his throat, and it tastes like coming.

Jack has never been more confused in all his long life.

Finally he fails to breathe for long enough that his body can fight no more and Jack sinks into a hazy fog of overwhelming sensation. He is vaguely surprised when the pull stops and he is still full. Shivers chase through strained muscles; his head hangs, mouth and throat still full of gently pulsing alien flesh, as tears drip from his eyes and nose; he makes noises he can't describe, wants things he can’t name. The Doctor's hand cups his throat, stroking slowly. With no strength left to react, Jack simply does his best to breathe. Something soft cleans the snot and slime from his face, which helps.

"Almost done, Captain. You’re doing so well." He can feel his stomach expanding.

By the end he is struggling weakly, crying in earnest if mostly silently, everything inside him turned to tight-packed misery again. The coils around his inflated belly have loosened as his skin has grown taut; now they fall away and he hangs there, stretched around the immensity inside. The Doctor moans, as if he would rather not, as if he can’t help himself.

“Oh, Captain,” he breathes. “Look what I’ve done to you.” The hand caressing Jack’s throat drops away, then joins its mate on Jack’s belly, smoothing across skin that feels chilled and naked without the enveloping tentacles. He presses a little harder and Jack groans as the whole stuffed mass of him shifts slightly. “I can feel them,” the Doctor says, sounding fascinated. “I couldn’t, before. I won’t again, I suppose. But I can feel them now, Captain, great hard lumps under your skin. No wonder they need so much cushioning.”

 _No more_ , Jack begs, suddenly afraid. Pitiful strangled noises bubble up from his plugged throat. _No more, no more, no more._

The hands pause, then the Doctor is leaning down into Jack’s line of sight, warm curiosity on his face, concern in his eyes. “No more what?” Haphazardly Jack lobs the whole of his recent experience at him in answer; but for all his pleas are utterly sincere, he has no intention of invoking the red flag, or even yellow. The Doctor’s eyes go darker and Jack shivers in delighted terror. “Ah. No, I’m afraid I can’t promise that, Captain.” A cool palm rubs slowly down the side of his belly, feeling the outline of the eggs; making Jack feel the hardness behind his skin, the way they shift in his guts, press against the overfilled centre. He is certain he will break if the Doctor puts any more inside him.

But he is equally certain that neither the Doctor nor Nurse Shua will break him.

With a very loving and not at all reassuring smile, the Doctor kisses his forehead and says, “But I won’t add anything else, just yet.” Then he is gone from Jack’s view again and no matter how Jack rolls his eyes around he cannot see his lover, so he stares helplessly ahead at what he can see: a few of Nurse Shua’s tentacles, including the one spitting him; a bit of the endlessly absorbent mattress and the comfortable pillows he would very much like to return to; and the wall, in a shade of blue that might be soothing in other circumstances. He is still very much captive. Whatever the Doctor wants to do to him, he has little choice but to take it.

It helps, remembering that. The tentacle with the soft cloth returns to clean his face again, and Jack steadies his breathing.

Both hands return to examining the egg bumps in his belly. “Simply extraordinary,” the Doctor murmurs, pressing careful fingertips into taut skin. He spreads his hands over Jack’s right side, only his thumbs moving to circle where a single egg lies, chasing the impression of it as deep as they can. Jack whimpers in pain at the much too pointed massage. “Hush, Captain. You wanted them in there. I want to feel them.” 

“Please apply pressure only directly inward, Doctor,” Nurse Shua says. “The eggs’ placement is secure, but movable with enough force.” A force Jack has recently been subject to, and would prefer to avoid a repeat of.

"Ah. Yes." The fingers return to a lighter touch, to Jack's relief; although nothing could make the sensation of small boulders kneading his insides _comfortable_. “Once he's properly rehydrated, I won’t be able to feel them anymore, will I?”

“You will not,” the nurse agrees. “A certain volume of gel is necessary for the small intestine to cushion the eggs properly. Extracting too much water compromises that function.” A tentacle tip touches Jack’s cheek gently, massages his aching jaw. “I apologise again for the unnecessary pain.”

"All's well now," the Doctor says. Jack moans softly in agreement. “There, see? He’s alright. So I had better make good use of the opportunity.” The heel of one hand rubs slowly down Jack’s side, _bump - bump - bump_ and back up to catch the eggs again with a differently aimed jostle, not hard enough to be painful but intensely _weird_. Strange little eddies of movement echo around Jack’s stuffed belly, affecting all the different densities a little differently - the flesh, the water, the too-dehydrated gel filling his intestines. In very short order Jack is panting shallowly and squirming, trying to fight his body’s growing inclination to interpret the sensations as _ticklish_. He doesn’t _want_ a ticklish liver. He can’t imagine how the Doctor could exploit the fact, but Jack is _certain_ he would find a way. The Doctor chuckles and keeps doing it. “Look at you, Jack, wriggling like a fish on a hook. What a beautiful catch you are. The fish who swallowed the sea.” His other hand is drifting down Jack’s belly, feeling the strained fullness of it. It slides around the lower curve and Jack moans as his cock, hanging limp and forgotten under the onslaught of sensation, jerks to attention at the brush of a familiar hand. Long fingers enfold him briefly and the Doctor makes a pleased noise; then he moves on. _Bump - bump - bump_ go the eggs, and Jack’s breath exits in a scatter of high pitched squeaks. His right leg kicks out, entirely without his will. Nurse Shua carefully folds it back into place as he twitches. “Oh, Captain,” the Doctor sighs quietly.

To Jack’s immense relief, the hand tormenting him moves away then, sliding up to feel the way Jack's belly arcs away from his ribs, high and tight. The Doctor presses experimentally there as well and a desperate whine escapes Jack as his overfull stomach pushes up against his solidly plugged esophagus. "It's all right there, isn't it. All those eggs, everything in your stomach, all trying to cozy up right beneath your ribs. Nurse Shua, are you comfortable holding him for a few more minutes?”

“For more than that.”

“Then, before you put him in the frame, can you just lift him up a little? I'd… like to see."

Like to see _what?_ Jack thought he liked the hands-and-knees view, the whole swollen thing dangling like a ripe fruit from his middle, evidence of everything the Doctor has stuffed inside him. Of everything Jack has taken for him.

"Of course, Doctor," the nurse says, and begins hoisting Jack toward the vertical. He has no say in it, of course; he signed that away the first chance he got. As long as he and the eggs are safe and healthy, Nurse Shua is happy to indulge whatever whims the Doctor might have. Arms still pinned uselessly against his chest, Jack moans as everything inside shifts downward. Only a little, though, and without the flare of pain. The tentacle shifts in his throat and he tries to swallow reflexively but ends up gagging, eyes watering.

“Relax, Captain,” the Doctor orders absently, nuzzling into Jack’s shoulder as he reaches to encompass the whole of him. Jack whimpers but does his best. It’s easy when the tentacle is still; he likes when it moves, for a certain value of _like_. But the starting and stopping is very difficult to cope with gracefully. “Really, Jack? Even with your stomach full? Well, if you think so.” Before Jack can work out how to agree and protest in the correct proportions, because on second thought the Doctor is almost certainly correct that the experience will be rather different with his stomach already pushing its bounds, he continues, “Just a bit of in and out, Nurse Shua, could you? It will be interesting, if nothing else. He thinks it’s the starting and stopping that’s the trouble.”

And then Jack is much too busy to protest. This time Nurse Shua begins with a smooth press inward, which it turns out his body is much more willing to work with as a starting point - but there isn't much room, inward, so very shortly most of his attention is absorbed in staying loose and open as the tentacle slides back up, out, through his lips with a silky glide, then plunges down again to push against the fullness he can feel the Doctor fondling from the other side.

“Shh, gently. You can do it, Jack.”

Another tentacle curls around his chin, slithers across his forehead, a soft support to keep his head at the right angle. The end of it wraps familiarly around his left ear as Jack goes limp in relief and lets Nurse Shua hold him up entirely. His only task now is to keep his throat open, persuade his body that the gag reflex is just as unnecessary here as it is when it is a cock that is slipping down his throat. Much less far down his throat, it must be said; but the principle is the same. And he has plenty of practice. The Doctor’s hands run caressingly over his belly, describing the shape of his fullness, pressing gently against the eggs; tentacles curl around him, supportive and inquisitive, coiling across his skin in search of any touch that will bring pleasure. This, he can handle. This, he _likes_. 

“Hold it in, Captain,” the Doctor murmurs, pressing light kisses against his neck. “Else we’ll just have to fill you again.”

The pull, the feel of something warm and thick rising in his throat; the push, the heat and pressure of being invaded. The sweet slick slide in his mouth, pliant flesh that twists and ripples like no cock ever has. Being able to breathe continuously is a fantastic addition to the experience and Jack makes good use of it, moaning in encouragement as his world narrows to the push and the pull and the fight to relax and take what he is given.

“Oh, _Jack_ ,” the Doctor breathes, adoration and devastation in equal parts; his hands have settled low on Jack’s sides, pressing tight where he can feel the eggs within, and his lips are ticklish against Jack’s collarbone. “Jack, Jack, Jack -” His moans are punctuated by sharp nips. _Jack_ caused this; _Jack’s_ body enough to drive the Doctor to speechlessness, to incoherent need. Jack groans, deep and satisfied, and keeps taking it all.

“A little higher, please,” the Doctor begs, and then the bed shifts and the hands are gone and Jack has utterly lost control of his throat because there is a cool mouth around his cock and he is trying to yell, trying to gasp, trying to thrust - he can’t move, can’t breathe. The immense length taking his throat doesn’t stop as his own cock sinks home in the back of the Doctor’s. No sensible thought remains in his head. He manages a breath somehow, an inarticulate cry; the movement in his throat is slow and steady, but the Doctor is anything but. His stretched stomach clenches and is driven back by the inescapable push. Jack gags and shakes and the Doctor speeds up, hand wrapping his already tight balls with a gentle pressure. He’s going to explode. He’s going to _like_ it when he does. 

Another breath, another desperate cry. The Doctor sucks, tongue slipping smooth along the underside of his cock, then he is deep in that welcoming throat and his own throat is filled solid and Jack is falling straight over that edge without a hope of resistance, choking and silent and thrashing in his bonds as his cock spends but his stomach is blocked from emptying no matter how his body spasms.

It stops fairly quickly, thankfully, the tentacle inside him gone still and soft. Aftershocks chasing through his nerves, Jack gasps for breath as the Doctor reluctantly disengages. He struggles back to his knees and leans his head on Jack’s shoulder as one hand returns to fondle the eggs in Jack’s pain-filled belly. Jack feels like an overpressurised bottle, primed to erupt the moment his plug is pulled.

The Doctor nuzzles him. “Shall I? I could. Just pop your cork like a champagne bottle.”

Jack snorts weakly, amused and horrified, then moans in pain. He does want it out, but any more right now is going to sprain something, and worse than that… worse than that, Jack is absolutely certain he would _enjoy_ it, and he doesn’t want to find out just how much. Opening his eyes, Jack finds his depraved madman of a lover eyeing him speculatively. He whimpers.

The corners of the Doctor’s lips curl up into the dark little smile that Jack fears and adores. “Well, I wouldn’t want to break you. Let him rest now, please, Nurse Shua. After all, Captain,” he adds thoughtfully, as a few more tentacles wrap around Jack’s legs and he is lifted from the bed, “we have entire _days_ left to go.”

Nurse Shua settles him carefully in the cradle, legs spread and folded beneath him, belly nestled into the soft sling that takes the weight from the critically overstrained muscles of his abdomen. The relief of it is nearly enough to bring him to tears by itself; in concert with the pain of the plug forcing his battered hole open again, holding him wide against the fluttering attempts to clench that still sweep through him in the wake of his orgasm, it is enough to reduce him to a sniveling wreck as he tries not to squirm. 

“We're so close,” the Doctor murmurs from behind him, and before Jack can wonder, _to what?_ \- he shoves too many fingers inside. A startled cry tears its way out of Jack’s blocked throat as his arse is assaulted yet again and then - instead of trying to move, or protest, or push the intrusion away - he simply collapses, sobbing limply on the padded bolster that supports his chest and head, finally overwhelmed. The Doctor can do as he likes with him. Jack will take it all.

“ _There_ we are. Good, Captain, just like that. Give it all to me. Don’t worry about a thing.” A gentle hand strokes his back, over his arse, along his thigh and back up, even as the Doctor pushes the fingers in deeper. “Sleep now,” the Doctor orders. “You’ll need it.”

There is no possible way he can sleep like this, Jack thinks, stuffed in every hole and filled to bursting with rocks in his gut and painful pressure in his stomach; but a calm warmth spreads from the Doctor’s hand and the motion of it on his skin carries him away.


	11. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack wants a break, maybe. The Doctor makes him a better offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: consensual somnophilia, mind games, emetophilia.
> 
> I am so surprised and gratified by the comments and I love you all. I was expecting this to be more or less posting into the void, because it's such a weird fic - who ever heard of novel length romantic inflation and tentacle porn? Thank you for taking a chance on it and I hope you are enjoying it a lot. ;) I turned off the restricted in case anyone wants to comment anonymously, in a rather transparent bid for more comments. Unkind of me to be anonymous and prevent everyone else from doing the same. - In summary, thank you, and here is an update.

The taste in his mouth is indescribably awful, hair-of-the-dog style, all-week-bender-leftovers style awful. Jack works his stiff jaw, spits on the floor. “Eurgh.” The tentacle has been extracted from his throat whilst he slept, which is a relief, but whatever was left behind has had time to become disgusting. And _sticky_.

“Back with us, Captain?” the Doctor asks from the bed, where he seems to be reading. Jack looks around for the rest of the _us_ , but Nurse Shua is not in evidence for the moment. “How are you feeling?”

Jack considers his various aches and pains, none of which are serious at the moment, and all of which add up to a very satisfying picture. “Used,” he opines. His voice is raspy but at least he has it back.

“You look it, rather,” the Doctor agrees with a little smirk, not quite meeting Jack's eyes. “You’ve been out for almost two hours. Another hour and we’ll top you up again.”

“ _Again?_ ” His voice breaks alarmingly; the Doctor seems far too happy about the prospect and Jack has been used so hard already today. His belly hurts just thinking about it. His cock twitches too, which he isn’t going to mention, not on his _life_. “I feel good,” he protests. “I feel full. Come look. Aren’t I full enough?”

Setting his book down, the Doctor comes to look, to feel, to answer Jack’s unspoken plea for gentle touch; his hands examine the curve of Jack’s flanks, press lightly and less lightly, draw shivers and small noises from Jack as they slide over skin relentlessly on display. “You are beautifully full, Captain,” he murmurs reassuringly, “wondrously full, amazingly, heart-stoppingly full. You’ve taken more than I could have imagined, given me more than I would ever have asked, and there is nothing else I could possibly need from you. You’ve earned your rest. You could float in the bath and just let me adore you for the next few days. If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.” He settles behind Jack, spread legs bracketing him tightly, the fabric of his trousers rough against the skin of Jack’s backside; he sinks his hands deep into the tight space between Jack’s swollen belly and his thighs spread as wide as possible to accommodate it. “But you can take more,” he whispers, holding tight as he rocks his hips. “We haven’t reached your limits yet.”

Just moments ago Jack had wanted a break. Now he finds himself swallowing a needy whine, trying not to wish for those hands to push deeper to discover just how interested he is. “Yes, we have,” he points out.

“At times,” the Doctor admits, rocking forward gently again. “Tangentially. In passing. I should enjoy a little more time to map you out, Captain.”

Jack had come here, in part, in search of the limits of body and mind; but he finds he wants to be sweet talked now, wants to be cajoled and not commanded. Wants that silver tongue of the Doctor’s turned his way. “I’m tired,” he says, resisting the urge to grind back against his lover. “I hurt.”

“I know you do,” the Doctor soothes. His hands slip upwards, leaving Jack’s cock to bump against his own belly, a bright well of lonely _wanting_. “With everything you have inside it’s a wonder you’re still coherent. Look at you, so ripe and heavy, so round you could be a little planet out there in the dark. I keep putting more in and you just keep taking it, Jack, you take it all -” The soft press of lips on his back, higher, and higher, until the Doctor is draped over him, cheek nestled between his shoulderblades, arms wrapped around his swollen middle to stroke the bulge below his ribs. The rocking of his hips has become a slow grind that affords Jack no relief. "I want to fill you until you can't take any more."

Jack swallows, mouth dry. The familiar weight of the Doctor across his back is pushing him down, down to the quiet place of relief and acceptance. “And then?”

“And then a little more,” his lover whispers against his skin. Jack shudders, no longer able to keep from leaning back; he moans softly as hands slip down, and down, and down the great round mass of him. They drag back up without ever touching his eager cock. “I put this here,” the Doctor says wonderingly; and if not strictly true, it’s true enough. “I can’t feel the eggs anymore - what a thrill that was, Jack, feeling those huge things inside you, knowing how much it hurt to take them, but you did it anyway, just for me, let me tie you down and open you up and stuff you so full you needed more just to distract you. So deep I’m not sure they’ll ever come out.” 

Jack grunts at that, jerks under his lover. “You wouldn’t,” he gasps, utterly certain of the fact but very willing to continue the fantasy where this is all the Doctor’s idea.

A low chuckle buzzes across his skin. “I could. I could keep you like this forever, Captain, a perfect little self-contained system, just add liquid. And I do so enjoy the _adding_ part.” The Doctor’s hips push a little harder against Jack’s arse and he clenches around the plug that keeps him stuffed and vulnerable and needy. It doesn’t hurt; he has slept long enough to heal the torn muscle there, at least. “Of course you might not like it so much without all the tentacles involved. But it isn’t as though you could escape, is it?”

He had been going to try, hadn’t he? Jack shifts his hips, trying to angle himself so the Doctor is at least grinding against the plug instead of his tailbone, but it doesn’t work.

“I should have to get more creative with the filling. Or, I suppose…” Suddenly cool fingertips are stroking him; Jack bucks and moans under the teasing touch, the long smooth strokes lighting him up - “I could make you swallow it all yourself.”

Confused, hips jerking futilely, Jack realises it is his throat the Doctor is stroking. “Doctor, _please_ -”

“Hm?”

It feels nearly as good as a hand on his cock. “Please, I need -”

“So eager to do it yourself! Of course, Captain, just a moment.”

“No - no, that’s not -” But he’s gone, off Jack and hopped to his feet and disappeared, and Jack is left naked and helpless on the floor, in no way tied down but still entirely captive. He tries to reach his cock but there’s no way; the bedamned cradle seems designed to prohibit it. He rocks his hips but stabbing himself in the belly is no way to get off. In general protest, he begins the laborious process of raising himself to his knees; maybe he’ll be able to reach in that configuration. 

Before he quite manages it the Doctor is back. He crouches down in front of Jack - which given the obvious erection is a very distracting view - and holds out a large cup. “Go on, then.”

“Can’t,” Jack tries. He’s at the wrong angle to drink from a cup now.

The Doctor frowns at him. “Of course you can. Here.” He drops a large straw into the cup, sets it on the floor, and stands. “Drink, Captain,” he orders.

Jack stares at it in dismay as the Doctor circles him slowly. “I thought you said an hour.”

“I thought you said you were full enough,” the Doctor counters. “But look what the idea of filling you more did to you.” He reaches between Jack’s legs and pinches the weeping head of his cock and Jack _howls_. “Drink.”

Gasping, Jack lays his head down and does as he’s bid. It’s plain water, which isn’t what he was expecting; it goes down easy enough at first, but becomes more difficult very quickly and neither taste nor texture has anything to recommend it. The Doctor is moving around the room. Jack is only halfway through the cup when he announces, “There, that should give you some motivation.” When Jack glances up he finds the display showing his own abused body, nearly as large as life. It’s a front view this time; he can’t see the plug in his arse, but he can see his face, hair wild, lips chapped and red, streaks of - oh. That explains the taste, then; and the smugness. The Doctor swoops by and makes a disappointed noise at the level in his cup, but Jack ignores him in petty retaliation - and he can see his belly. He can hardly see anything besides his belly. It dangles in its sling well below the supports his elbows rest on, immense and round and eclipsing any possible view of the lower half of his body. Only a few stretch marks are visible, presumably from his most recent bellyful. As thrillingly huge as it is, the reality of it hits him hard with his face visible on top of it and the Doctor’s fantasy of keeping him like this indefinitely gains terrifying new weight.

The Doctor reappears. “Drink, Captain. You can admire yourself and drink at the same time.”

Perhaps the distraction will make it easier to finish the cup. Jack sips and stares and swallows and repeats. 

The Doctor settles behind him again, sans trousers this time, shirt open and brushing against Jack’s skin. His eyes are dark as he surveys his conquest, hands heavy and possessive, pressing firm this time to feel the hard swell of everything he has put inside. Jack groans as the hands slide higher, massaging directly over the stomach he is doing his best to fill with a cup that seems endless. He looks away for a moment to check the level and finds it just at halfway - the sneaky bastard took it away and _refilled it_ -!

“No fair!” Jack yelps, then catches his breath in a delighted hiccuping gasp as the Doctor leans forward to slide his cock over Jack’s swollen, sensitive rim. The plug has drawn back inside, leaving him gaping open, unable to close.

“Absolutely nothing here is fair, Captain,” he agrees with a very satisfied smile, rocking his hips slowly back, slowly forward as Jack begs unreservedly for more, fighting against the iron grip that keeps him in place for this sublime torment. “Shameful. Absolutely shameful the way you carry on.” If Jack had any shame left it's possible he might feel some at the way his body shudders and twitches, the flush on his face, the way his mouth, open and begging, seems to reach for something to fill it; but it's pretty hot so probably not. The maddening drag builds in Jack’s nerves until he can feel nothing else.

And then it stops.

“Drink, Captain.”

He doesn’t waste any more time, dropping his head to gulp at the straw without hesitation. His throat seizes, and he forces it down anyway; his stomach threatens to rebel, and he forces it down anyway. Jack drinks without stopping until the cup is empty, until he is groaning in pain and need, twisting mindlessly in an attempt to open up more space inside. “Please,” he begs, swallowing determinedly to keep it down. It hurts, and he wants badly to let it all out. To be allowed to let it out. “Please, _please_ , Doctor, please, I did it, please -”

The slick slide against his open hole starts up again, torturously slowly. The Doctor has set up the camera and display to get the mirror effect of staring at each other, and now he stares into Jack’s eyes, calm and in control as Jack writhes beneath him. Jack whimpers, helpless as cool fingers roam downwards to explore his balls, cup and tug them, pinch lightly. “Just a touch is all you need, isn’t it. I expect I’ll find your picture in the dictionary under _insatiable_.” He certainly is under _these_ conditions; no one else in the universe can push his buttons like the Doctor. Hell, the Doctor installed a lot of them - and he is working on installing more. A second hand creeps down his belly to rub the painfully tight bulge stretching Jack’s ribs. He watches himself swallow, and swallow, and swallow, moaning sickly in half-fearful desire. “I’m going to touch you, Jack,” the Doctor murmurs against the skin of his back, bent over again to reach all of him. “Don’t come.”

Fingers close like tongues of fire on his cock and Jack screams through clenched teeth, his entire body gone rigid in a desperate attempt to stave off the orgasm surging through him. He chokes as he feels a hand begin stroking his throat again, moving in unison with the hand on his cock, might as well be everything in between as well - the Doctor has made his whole body a conduit for this release and he can’t hold it back against the hands coaxing everything open, he _can’t_ -

“Now, Captain.”

His eyes open as his mouth does, watering badly but clear enough he doesn’t miss the obscene sight of his back arching, body jerking in unmistakable pleasure as his stomach rids itself of its contents explosively in what he can no longer think of as anything but ejaculation. The relief is profound; the pain of the contractions is nothing compared to the moments between as the pressure ratchets only _down_. The Doctor nurses him through the nauseous rush of his orgasm pumping him empty with a steady hand on his throat, cock sliding against his arse slow and firm, easing the plug back in after each heave. Soft kisses fall over his back like rain. 

“What,” Jack gasps, when he can finally make words again, “what are you doing, you know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” the Doctor says, sounding deeply satisfied.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because I like it.” He raises his head from Jack’s back then, expression unreadable on the display. “Do you want me to stop?”

Jack sighs and lays his head down on his bolster, which mostly escaped getting wet; and watches the display, which _didn't_. Making him like it had been better than he was expecting. But this… he doesn’t know where the Doctor is going with this, but he is very much afraid he will be made to enjoy the finding out. “As long as you’re willing to spend the time to deprogram me if I don’t want it anymore… go ahead, I guess.” Twice the attention for him, that way.

“Of course.”

“It tasted wrong,” Jack mumbles, feeling as though he might be giving away something valuable much too cheaply. “Should be the sweet stuff. It tastes like coming.”

“Does it? Already?” He sounds pleased, which leaves Jack feeling _proud_ of his humiliating confession. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Kissing Jack once more, the Doctor pushes himself back upright and slips his cock into Jack’s arse.

“Doc!” Jack yelps, squirming in surprise.

“Shh, just relax, Jack, you’ve done your part. I won’t be long.” He starts moving without giving Jack a chance to protest further, pressing in slow and deep. Jack groans at the stretched, over-full feeling.

“What am I, your personal fuck-toy?” Jack grumbles, and, “Yes,” the Doctor says, hands soft against him, none of that bruising grip now, “precisely that,” and Jack relaxes into the cradle, rocked gently by his lover’s hips, perfectly content to fulfill that life-long ambition.

After Nurse Shua has pumped him full again, they lie in bed together, the Doctor wrapped around Jack whose limbs are wrapped around a multitude of pillows. His belly has a gravity all its own, lying in a deep depression in the conforming material; his fullness is satisfyingly complete with the tentacle still down his throat, keeping him plugged. Perhaps he will have another few stretch marks this time. He wishes he had a picture of that first shocking view he had of himself after the initial few rounds of stretching, round and taut and completely crazed with stretch marks. He wishes he could retain the sense memory of the refill after the emptying, that went on and on and on until he was overflowing from the top, not yet enjoying that but enjoying the Doctor’s clear delight.

“Alright, Jack?” the Doctor whispers. Time for Jack to sleep again, he said. It’s hard to keep track of the time. Jack hums agreeably, eyelids heavy. “Do you need anything?”

Jack considers the things he has: a lover, a tentacle monster, a clutch of enormous eggs in his gut, a veritable ocean inside him, a plug in his arse, and a tentacle down his throat. He considers the things he does not have: mobility, food, and clothing among them.

He holds the Doctor’s hand a little closer and lets the pressure in his belly set him adrift from thought. No, he doesn’t need anything else, right now.


	12. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack makes his escape attempt. He doesn't get very far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: roleplay, spanking, heavy dom/sub.
> 
> Sorry for the long wait. After probably four rewrites and thousands of discarded words, I ended up cutting the chapter before everything I spent all that time working on anyway because plenty happens here and the tone is much different once Nurse Shua joins in again, so... On the plus side the wait for the next chapter won't be so long. Probably. Life is not conducive to the right frame of mind to be writing this, at the moment.

When Jack wakes the room is dim again and the Doctor is curled behind him, arm draped low over his hip, snoring against his shoulder. It’s the perfect time to try an escape, if Jack wanted to escape, which he doesn’t - but the Doctor wants to see him try. It’s bound to be amusing.

Very carefully he shifts the Doctor’s arm to his own hip, waits to be sure it didn’t wake him, then considers his predicament. How _is_ he meant to get up? He can’t sit up, can’t roll over; well hydrated as he is he doesn't think he will hurt himself or the eggs by moving, but it also means he is very, very full. He sets his right elbow and tries to lever himself away from the Doctor but pushing the vastness of his belly ahead of him is an immense effort, made worse by the days of immobility. If he could shift his hips forward maybe - but that requires the cooperation of the abdominal muscles that he last recalls the Doctor overusing mercilessly. Jack tenses experimentally, and to his great relief finds them… well, usable, anyway, after a night of healing.

He’ll soon fix that.

Painstakingly Jack inches forward, away from the comforting embrace of his lover - no, strike that, if he’s to be escaping he ought to try to be a bit more invested in it. 

Painstakingly Jack inches forward, away from the mockery of intimacy his captor insists on engaging in. The lack of restraint is insulting; pain has never stopped him getting things done, and the idea that Jack would break after just a few days and _want_ to stay is ridiculous, no matter the shattering orgasms that have been pulled from him, the soft words that come after the horror is done. The horror he has to drag around with him now.

(Jack pets his belly apologetically and gives up that line of make-believe. It’s wonderfully, amazingly full and he loves the way his insides push and strain and ache. And the Doctor very obviously adores it. There’s nothing wrong with it at all. And the orgasms have been just the _right_ kind of horrible.)

He has been kept to this room for the duration. Perhaps if he can pass the door he can find someone to help.

It goes a little quicker once he gets his legs sorted out; there had been a pile of pillows in the way, keeping his left leg raised and useless. Jack realises why as soon as he tries to lower it. The enormous plug in his arse makes closing his legs almost impossible and very uncomfortable. Instead he sets his left foot flat and uses it to push, although that also feels very, very wrong with something as thick as his wrist jammed up inside him - and that’s not even mentioning the bloated, wobbling mountain that is his belly. It’s a terrible inconvenience when trying to escape and certainly the reason his captor didn’t bother to restrain him.

Jack very nearly gives up the attempt at the edge of the bed; he stares in dismay at the drop to the floor, the distance to the door. He hasn’t walked in days, hasn’t even tried. Probably he can crawl.

Walking is faster. Jack lets his right leg drop off the side of the bed, foot to the floor, left leg straight as counterweight, gets his right hand under him and heaves himself upright. As he pushes, he tenses, and the plug in his arse forces its way through his hole, tightened again overnight; as he settles upright his weight pushes it nearly back inside. The too-quick motion strains his abdomen past endurance again and the rapid-fire shocks of pain leave him gasping, trying to choke back a cry so as not to wake his captor. There is a soft snort and a shift of movement behind him and Jack uses the spike of adrenaline to launch himself forward into thin air, trying to ignore the stretched burn of his arse, hoping his legs will carry him.

It’s a very near thing. He staggers forward, trying to find his balance as the great shifting mass of his belly throws him off, tosses him side to side, drags him down - it feels like it’s all falling _out_ -! He wraps his arms around the bulk of it and fights to lift each leg, to take the next step to keep him from falling; manages to wear out the forward momentum until he stands, feet spread, knees bent, belly cradled in his arms, unable to straighten his back and continue. 

Crawling it is.

As slowly as he can, Jack sinks down to his haunches, intensely conscious of the plug holding his arse wide open and the potential audience behind him. He has, at times, wished for a plug that would just _stay in_ , no matter what he did; now that he has it, the loss of autonomy in how it uses his body and can be used against him are (shockingly arousing) an unexpectedly potent weapon in his captor’s arsenal. Just as he commits to the drop forward to his knees, a low moan comes from the bed behind him. He hits much harder than he had hoped to.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ -” The jolt leaves his abdomen lighting up in flares of pain, discordant waves of it surging through him to tear at every muscle that had healed overnight.

His captor’s voice then, low and rough with sleep. “Captain, what are you doing?”

Against his better judgement Jack twists awkwardly to look at him. The sight of him there, bed-mussed and heavy-eyed and languidly stroking a very promising looking erection, almost makes Jack give up his game on the instant; but he does look very interested in the proceedings, so with a thick swallow and one more appreciative look, Jack turns his attention back to his own situation. “Escaping,” he says, failing to sound entirely convincing.

After a pause during which neither of them move, the Doctor asks dubiously, “Are you?”

“Yes,” he says, doing better this time. Gingerly settling his belly between his thighs, Jack tilts forward until he can reach the floor - which is no minor accomplishment and leaves him feeling uncomfortably compressed. "I won't let you use me for your depraved experimentation any longer."

"Well," the Doctor says after a moment of thought, "go on then." Which is a daft thing for an evil captor to say. 

Jack sighs. "Look, I'm going to a lot of effort here. You could at least play along."

“Get on with it, Captain. The view from here is excellent.”

Encouraged, if not exactly in the direction he had been planning, Jack gets on with it. The shift to movement this time is not so jarring, but his arms are in no better shape than his legs and it turns out crawling with an enormous, dangling belly is only easier in that he is somewhat more stable, and has much less far to fall if he fails. The plug pulls back inside, which helps a little. Every time he drags a knee forward he runs into his belly; every time he picks up a hand the other arm threatens to buckle. The continuous sway and jolting to his insides slow him to a snail's pace in short order, breath coming in gasps and pained grunts as he hauls each wide-spread knee forward in decreasing increments.

"Need some help?" Mockingly cheerful, the Doctor's voice comes from much too close behind him. Jack squeaks in surprise and tries to speed up his escape, which is a mistake; when he slides his right leg forward again the Doctor’s foot is against his, pushing, and Jack nearly collapses straight onto his nose as his knee slams forward with far too much force.

A shocked, breathless cry tears its way out of his throat, and the Doctor laughs, and Jack locks his arms and hangs his head and breathes as well as he can with everything inside him knocking back and forth sickeningly.

“Keep going,” his sadistic captor orders. “I’m quite enjoying this.” It is his moral duty to resist his captor’s demands, isn’t it? But what to do when he is ordered to continue escaping? The decision is taken from him when a finger gooses him in a disturbingly intimate way, bypassing any possible resistance to slip between his rim and the plug that doesn’t let him close, and his body moves without any particular will from him to escape the unexpected violation. The Doctor’s foot is behind his again, to the same effect, and this time he does collapse, drop to his elbows with his forehead to the floor. As bad as his belly feels when he is upright, it’s even worse when he is inverted. Bodies aren’t built to hold things that direction. 

But he isn’t sure he can get up.

“Oh, yes, also a lovely view,” the Doctor says, sounding pleased. A cool hand rubs along the crease of Jack’s arse, a slow circular massage relaxing him, stretching him open. What’s the point of resisting anymore? Thoroughly recaptured, Jack moans, very willing to surrender. “Is that all?” the Doctor says, with weaponised disappointment. Jack struggles to draw back from the hazy wordlessness. “I expected more of a fight from you, Captain.”

A hard slap catches his upraised arse, shocking him back toward consciousness. Another one, in the tender place at the top of his thigh - and then another one, harder, on the exact same spot and Jack abruptly finds his voice.

“Fuck, _ow_ , serve you right if I did escape -” Then one lands right in the middle, a different spike of pain to his sensitive, vulnerable hole, and the words evaporate in the glare. All that comes out of him is a burst of shocked sobs, high desperate noises as the Doctor continues taking advantage of how open he is to use his entire hand to land stinging slaps very nearly _inside_ him - and not incidentally hitting the plug as well. The pain is sharp and worse with every hit, but it’s the knowledge of his complete helplessness that courses through him like floodwaters, shakes him senseless, tumbles him under. The pain comes from outside but the thing holding him open, preventing him moving is coiled heavy _inside_ him, inescapable. Very quickly past the point of being able to lie still and take it, but also unable to get his limbs sorted, Jack is forced into one of the most humiliating displays of his long life: failing to crawl whilst he fails to escape, his face ploughing across the floor as he inchworms his way away from the torment behind him, bawling his eyes out. 

He has regrets. Why did he think this was a good idea? The Doctor, Jack remembers dimly, is plenty sadistic enough without being either evil or his captor.

Sometime after he regains the ability to lay there and take it - by means of _losing_ the ability to do anything else - after he stops so much as flinching, after the pain has settled into a steady inferno and a pervasive lethargy has colonised his limbs, the Doctor stops. He sits beside Jack, and strokes him soothingly, and Jack wants nothing at all but to crawl into his lap and be cared for but the geometry of the manoeuvre is not immediately obvious so he continues crying on the floor. He feels unstrung. He feels unfinished.

“Oh, Jack,” the Doctor sighs, loving, exasperated. Burying his fingers in Jack’s hair, he tightens them until a shiver runs through Jack and he moans. It’s better, although the crying doesn’t stop. The Doctor's other hand smoothes over Jack’s trembling shoulders, ribs that jerk with heavy, shallow breaths. “What else do you need?”

Unable to raise his head, Jack nuzzles against the Doctor’s bare thigh, rucking up the leg of the shorts he slept in against his nose as he quests higher. He needs to be reclaimed.

The Doctor shifts away from him and for one terrible moment Jack feels himself rejected, bereft. But then knees are bracketing his head and hands are working carefully under his shoulders, pinned to the floor by the weight of his belly. “Hush now, Captain, I’m going to tip you up. It’s going to hurt but you’ll feel better once you can breathe again. Just relax, as much as you can.” He can’t quite hush but he can relax; he can barely do anything else, so tenderised, pulverised, by the spanking he can’t imagine doing anything but following orders. As his shoulders come up, though, his backside comes down toward his heels, rotating around the centre of mass settled heavy between his knees - and the plug begins forcing its way out of his abused hole again. Staring beseechingly into his lover’s eyes, Jack whimpers in distress. The Doctor pauses, then his lips quirk into the barest hint of a smirk and he continues to push Jack slowly, inexorably, back. “I know it hurts,” he says, holding Jack’s gaze as he dictates Jack’s experience, making sense of the pain for him. “I want it to hurt. I want you to feel every millimetre of it as it forces you open. I want you to understand just how trapped you are, carrying something too big to be contained around inside you. I don’t have to do a thing, to keep you here. This,” he whispers, as the plug pushes out of Jack with a riveting slowness, stretching skin already feverish from the vicious spanking, “is all extra. Put your hands down, Captain.”

Still watching his captor through eyes tight and aching from tears, belly a firm pressure between his legs, arse held wide open inside and out, Jack puts his hands to the floor. Trapped.

Letting go so he has to hold himself up, the Doctor pets his hair gently. “Good boy.”

Jack looks away, face burning. _Good lad_ he accepts, if only from the Doctors who actually act older than him; _good boy_ is a place they rarely go. But if not when sat before his master like a dog brought to heel and desperate for a kind touch, a show of ownership - then when? The Doctor pets him steadily, silent, giving him time to decide. Submitting to the humiliating narrative, Jack whines quietly.

“Yes, you are,” the Doctor murmurs, leaning forward to kiss his forehead. Maybe it's worth it, for that. “Just need a firm hand, sometimes. Fancy trying to run away from me.” Pushing himself to his feet, he circles Jack slowly, crouches down behind him. Cool fingers rub over the inflamed skin of his rim and Jack doesn’t try to hold back the pitiful noises as the Doctor presses and prods, examining his handiwork. "This must have hurt quite a lot," he says sympathetically, as if it had not been obvious. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.” Jack bobs his head in answer, pushing back into his master’s touch in a wordless plea for more. Instead the Doctor smacks him just hard enough to sting and hops to his feet. "Stay, boy."

The casual command drops Jack into roiling confusion. Too recently playing the escaping captive, he feels as though he ought to disobey on principle; but after his recapture and punishment he wants to earn his comfort back. And he loves to be cosseted and petted and owned, and they both know it; but being the Doctor’s _good boy_ twists things just a little past comfortable and into the murkiness of racial relations between human and Time Lord. The forced obedience of a trapped animal is a very different thing from the willing submission the Doctor usually asks of him.

And, of course, there is the added humiliation that it is a completely unnecessary command. Even falling over would take effort at this point. Jack’s lip curls up but his growl is half-hearted at best; still it earns him another smack.

“Hush,” the Doctor says as he walks away. “No treats for grumpy boys.”

He _wants_ to be good.

He wants to _fight_.

Head hanging, Jack gasps for breath as his heart pounds, an uncomfortable buzz growing in his chest, expanding out along his nerves until his skin fairly crawls with it. Aborted movements flicker through his muscles, flowing painfully across his distended abdomen, tightening thigh and arse and subsiding there at the stinging reminder of his helplessness. He did manage to walk a few steps, as horribly uncomfortable as it was - but that was launching from the bed, and there is no way he can climb to his feet from the floor. All his avenues of physical rebellion have been systematically stripped away, but the last bastion refuses to fall. He can’t reach the submission he needs. The Doctor has left him to fight _himself_ , and all he can do is lose.

“Shh, it’s alright, I’m right here.” A soothing hand cups his chin, raises his head; warm cloth on his face, drying his tears, calming flushed skin. “Blow your nose,” the Doctor coaxes, and Jack does. After all the crying it is an immense relief. He leans into the supporting hand gratefully. “I brought you some water.”

Jack begins swallowing before he remembers the pain that action can bring. His throat balks momentarily but he wants the water too badly. He drinks, and comes to the end of the cup before his stomach rebels, and sighs in relief.

“Good boy,” the Doctor praises, kissing his forehead again; Jack whimpers, inner conflict reginited. Fingers press against his cheeks, between his teeth. “Shh. Open your mouth, Captain.” Letting himself be manipulated, Jack opens his eyes in time to see the Doctor leaning close; then he is feeding his hardening cock into Jack’s open mouth.

A muffled cry escapes Jack even as his lips tighten to cover teeth out of long habit. Fingers still press between his jaws; the Doctor’s other hand is behind his head, holding him still. His nose is pressed into the Doctor’s skin, not quite hard enough to cut off his air. Jack struggles, and goes nowhere.

He wants to be good; he wants to fight.

He wants to be forced.

He wants the decision taken away and he wants the awful feeling gone and he wants to be _good_.

The Doctor moans; his cock stirs on Jack’s tongue, pressing in, filling him up. “Good boy,” the Doctor assures him. “My good boy.” It pushes away the anxious buzz as it pushes down his throat. Jack sucks in a last breath before his air is cut off, and then all his attention goes to relaxing his throat to take more, and more. He flexes his tongue and the Doctor moans again, hips giving a little jerk. Hands become a gentle halter behind Jack’s head, under his chin, the Doctor croons, “There, now, isn’t that better? Shh, good boy…”

A single violent shudder snaps through Jack’s body. The clawing tension shakes loose, falls away like dust, and with a full-body sigh of relief Jack sinks into the here and now and forgets the rest. Wholly owned, wholly claimed, he is his master’s good boy.

Before his need for air becomes desperate the Doctor eases part way out. Jack breathes without complaint, closes his eyes and draws a gentle suction in his mouth and waits patiently, the very best cockwarmer he can be. A thumb strokes his jaw as the Doctor waits as well; for what, Jack doesn’t speculate, but every moment sinks him deeper into relaxed stillness, a vessel plugged at both ends and centred around the immense fullness inside. 

The Doctor begins moving again, pushing firm and spit-slick through Jack’s lips, drawing back with a soft gasp. “Just like that,” he says, the loving approval in his voice everything Jack needs. “Just like that, my beautiful Captain, my good boy, there you are. How lovely you are sat here for me, how warm and wet your mouth is - _oh_ -” Held so, Jack can do nothing but take it, but he takes it with enthusiasm. He moans at the heavy slide of his lover’s cock over his tongue, and moans more when the choked noises that result from a cock in the back of his throat make it shove deeper. The hand under his chin slides down and down again and Jack swallows and swallows and swallows as he is bid, the Doctor’s cock lodged deep inside, his moans filling Jack’s ears like music until he pulls back and the grip on Jack’s head turns firm. “Suck,” the Doctor gasps, and Jack does, moaning urgently as his master uses him as he loves to be used. He thrusts quick and hard until he gives a wordless shout and then the hands around Jack’s head tighten like a vise and his world is only the soft skin against his face and the hard, swollen cock filling his mouth and opening his throat and spilling so deep he won’t even need to swallow.

Jack’s lungs are burning and his gag reflex is nearly irresistible by the time the Doctor gently extracts himself, but the thought of protest never crosses his mind. His master’s desires are his only care; the Doctor will see to his needs, if he wishes to.

“Alright, Jack?” the Doctor murmurs, hands cupping Jack’s face gently, still bearing the weight of his head. Jack swallows gingerly then licks the cock still conveniently nearby; it twitches. “Ah - _Captain_ -” But he doesn’t move away, so Jack licks him again, tidying up what mess is left. “Enough,” the Doctor groans finally, pulling away. “Stop now, Captain, there’s a good boy.” His cheek rubs cool against Jack’s, hands run gentle down Jack’s back, over his rounded sides, feeling the tight fullness there. Jack nuzzles into the safety of his shoulder, basking in the attention and closeness. 

Eventually the Doctor sighs and sits back; he leaves a reassuring hand tangled in Jack’s hair as he looks him over. “Such a sweet thing you are, like this. So eager to satisfy my every whim.” Jack watches attentively; the Doctor’s lips curve up into a soft, wry smile at the way he cocks his head to ease the angle. “Well. Like this, then. You do please me a great deal, Captain, never doubt it. Here, let me sit you up so I can see you.”

Taking Jack’s shoulders again, the Doctor pushes up and back until he is sat upright, hands braced awkwardly on his thighs for what support they can provide, the vastness of his belly fully on display. He feels huge; he _is_ huge, and the Doctor’s eyes are huge as he takes in the extent of what Jack holds inside.

“ _That_ is a sight,” he breathes as his hands slide down, fingers leaving shimmering trails over skin hungry for contact, thumbs circling nipples with more than passing interest. “You don’t know what you _do_ to me, Captain, the things you make me want to do to you -”

But if he is a good boy, if he is the best boy, perhaps he will find out.

Jack’s hips are beginning to hurt badly, but he ignores them in favour of the hungry look on the Doctor’s face as his hands sweep lower, massaging Jack’s fullness in firm strokes. “What a good boy you are, sitting so straight and still for me,” he murmurs, even though Jack twitches and moans when he presses hard and the eggs shift inside. He tries to do better. “I think sometimes I should like to show you off, dress you in a silk collar and let you crawl at my heels, make you sit up and beg like this so everyone could see how beautiful you are, how obedient, how very much you can take for me. How I can stuff you until you barely fit inside your skin and still you’ll beg for more.” Should he beg now? The Doctor’s hands have reached the lower curve now, pushing, lifting. His eyes are fire. Straight and still, Jack pants, lightheaded.

The Doctor leans down, cool breath playing over fevered skin. “But I don’t want to share,” he whispers, and as he sinks his teeth into the taut skin of Jack’s belly his hand also closes tight on the cock Jack suddenly realises is rock hard and throbbing insistently in this new position. Overwhelmed and immobilised, Jack’s mouth falls open in a soundless cry as his eyes roll back in his head. “This is mine,” the Doctor says, licking the place he bit, “ _I_ put it here. And this is mine,” he says, with a long, slow stroke of Jack’s cock that tears a helpless wail from his throat, “and this is mine,” he says, as the hand moves to squeeze Jack’s balls and shock him back to choked silence, “and _this_ is mine,” he says, reaching yet further, pressing hard on the plug that is such a constant thing Jack had begun to forget about it. Gasping for breath, eyes shut tight, Jack cries out in wordless noises as everything inside is upset from the bottom up, eggs bumping and jostling, tissues straining to contain it all. “All of this is mine,” the Doctor says, rubbing the still-sore flesh that he spanked with such enthusiasm earlier. “All of you. And I don’t want to share.”

Jack is a good boy, he is a _good_ boy, but it is _so hard_ to sit still.

Kneeling up, the Doctor bites his throat, his chin, his lip, pushes his mouth open to taste him deeply as Jack groans in need and presses closer, despite the compression the movement subjects his inflated belly to. “But,” the Doctor announces cheerfully as he draws away, much to Jack’s dismay, “needs must. Nurse Shua?”

The door opens, and the colourful nurse enters on its hoverplate. If it is surprised to find them in the middle of the floor, Jack can’t tell. “Good morning, the Doctor and Jack. May I be of assistance?”

“Good morning. Can you move him back to the bed? As gently as possible, please.”

“Of course.” A strong tentacle wraps around Jack’s chest, taking some of the weight from legs beginning to go numb. Jack whines anxiously. He won't fight what the Doctor wants, but the sudden discovery that his wants diverge from his master's is jarring. He _doesn't_ want this. It will take him away from the Doctor.

Fingers tighten in his hair. "Hush, Captain," the Doctor orders gently. "I'm coming too. I commend your willingness to crawl at my heels but it's not necessary."

One after another tentacles enmesh Jack and he submits to them with relief, borne up in a slow, careful wave as they curl around him and take away the weight and much of the forgotten pain of his overstrained body. The Doctor doesn’t let go of him until he is fully supported by Nurse Shua, cradled close and safe; then he extracts his fingers from Jack’s hair, kisses him lingeringly, and stands. Jack watches him unblinking as he is arranged on the bed on his right side again, pillows pushed back into place to hold him. Instead of curling up against his back the Doctor lies down face to face with him, where he can see, where he can touch, where he can bury his nose in the comforting scent of his lover’s skin; where he can hear the double beat of his heart, tucked safe against his chest. It’s not crawling into his lap, but it’s nearly as good.

The Doctor holds him close, curls around his belly, breathes into his hair. “I would never let you escape unless you wanted to, you know," he whispers. "Not ever.”

Jack swallows, trying to marshall his voice into better than a croak. “Good boy?”

“The very best,” the Doctor promises.


	13. Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nurse Shua is not pleased with Jack and the Doctor's shenanigans, and the Doctor makes a conquest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: dom/sub dynamics, orgasm denial, discussion of emetophilia, mind games, stuffing. Double penetration, I guess? Lots and lots of tentacles. Oodles of tentacles. Tentacles everywhere.
> 
> Still not sure about the first half of this chapter, but I really just don't want to spend any more time on it so I hope it's enjoyable anyway!

Jack had been vaguely hoping that a good boy would be permitted to come, but the Doctor seems to have forgotten entirely about that outcome so he tries to do so as well. It is very difficult to do with tentacles slithering over his skin in ways that make it obvious that _someone_ has noticed his discomfort. Still, Nurse Shua spends long enough fussing Jack’s limbs about in search of optimal comfort that he begins to be soothed by the touch; he feels weightless again, drifting in some strange, clinging current. When the tentacles start to retreat he whines in protest, tries to reach for them. The Doctor makes an attempt to hold him _more_ to make up for it, but he has a very limited number of limbs and quickly gives up with a laugh.

“Nurse Shua, won’t you stay,” he invites. “He wants very much to be held.”

“Certainly, if you prefer,” Nurse Shua agrees. Jack relaxes as it reverses course and he is once again enveloped in care. Further conversation flows over him in quiet eddies, unheeded.

His efforts to sink back into the mindless depths of submission are stymied when Nurse Shua’s tentacles suddenly go stiff and still, transforming his comforting cocoon into a form-fitting cage. Jack whimpers in distress, but before he can react otherwise they resume movement, coiling reassuringly over his skin. One settles soft against his jaw and strokes his face solicitously. He licks it. “Please do not attempt to walk without my assistance, Jack. Please do not allow this, Doctor. A fall could cause serious injury in his current condition."

"Ah," the Doctor says, sounding chagrined. "Yes. I'm sorry. No more walking, Jack, alright?" Jack nods without raising his head. He has no interest in doing so anyway, save at the Doctor's order. For himself, the fullness is enough to occupy him; enough to lose himself to, when the Doctor fills him all the way to the top.

“Why was he attempting to walk?” Jack flinches; Nurse Shua’s voice conveys very little emotion, but he is nonetheless certain _scathing disapproval_ is one of the emotions it is not conveying. Disapproval of him? He had meant to be the best nest, but if he put the eggs at risk -

The Doctor kisses his head reassuringly. “My fault, I’m afraid. You’ll recall I said I’d like to see him try to escape. Have I hurt him?” As somewhat of an afterthought, he adds, “Or the eggs?”

Declining to engage with this particular role-play, Nurse Shua simply wraps Jack up further. His legs splay apart as more tentacles push between them, ringing his thighs, blunt tips pressing against every sensitive place; one creeps into his arse and he isn’t even sure it’s on purpose. The one by his mouth pushes in and curls against the inside of his cheek. Jack whimpers. He feels like a fish, netted and hooked. 

“The eggs are at very little risk, properly cushioned," the nurse admits. But in that case, why all the fuss -? "Is he in pain?”

Jack sighs, and turns his head a little to hold the slippery hook more comfortably. If ever a fish were so well cared for.

“Only the strained muscle type, I think. Nothing inside.”

The smooth slide of tentacles replaces the rougher friction of the Doctor’s hand on Jack’s belly, the pressure changing to Nurse Shua's precise, delicate manipulations. Jack can feel each egg shift individually inside him, can feel his fullness ebbing and rippling through his bloated intestines, pushing against his edges. The strange feelings draw involuntary reactions from him, small stretching, twisting movements to attempt to accommodate the shifting mass stuffed inside; the press of eggs against his diaphragm makes his breath hitch unexpectedly. "Shh, shh, relax," the voice he loves urges him quietly as fingers card through his hair. “You mustn’t fight it, Captain, there's a good boy. Feel how stretched you are, how huge your belly is, how much you're holding inside for me." The tentacles tug at him, tip him backward slightly to reach more of his belly and Jack whines in protest as his head follows, pulling his face away from his lover’s chest. He opens his eyes at the Doctor’s moan, only to be speared in place by that dark gaze. " _Look_ at you,” the Doctor groans, voice rough with hunger. He cups his hand over the bulge in Jack’s cheek, rubs gently; the tentacle pulses and pushes in further in response, stretching Jack’s jaw. “Look at you both, so beautiful. How trapped you are, Jack. How very, very helpless.”

Reignited arousal blooms like a tracery of fire through Jack's nerves. At any moment he might be further invaded, an intrusion lacing through his guts, a quick thrust down his throat - he might be pumped full again, might be forced to swallow until he chokes, might be denied breath until he suffocates. Pierced and penetrated and caught in this living net as he is, Jack couldn’t fight any of it; he can’t move at all. The coil around his cock feels very tight.

A knuckle traces his open lips, nudges higher. Carefully blocking one nostril at a time, the Doctor watches Jack twitch with intent eyes, that beautiful little smirk lifting the corners of his mouth. The tentacle moves again in his mouth and Jack whines, eyes rolling anxiously. Out of his hands, it’s all out of his hands, no matter how he struggles, how he tries to rock his hips or press himself back onto the unsatisfying intrusion in his arse, no matter how he whimpers and pleads. He can feel his breath speeding up, his heart racing; he mustn’t fight it, mustn’t _chase_ it, he must be good -

A low wail escapes him as cool fingers slip slowly down his aching cock - and stop.

“I want you to relax,” the Doctor insists. He cradles Jack’s cock in the palm of his open hand, pressing it softly against the curve of his overinflated belly. Held so completely, Jack feels himself being drained of all urgency, heavy eyed and heavy limbed as his body relaxes into the Doctor’s familiar control. “Nurse Shua needs to examine you. Be a good boy and lie still for us, Captain. Just enjoy it.”

If this is an _examination_ Jack is the queen of France - but the pressure inside is coming in soft waves, just enough to coax his breathing into its rhythm, and a firm knot of tentacle presses against his lower back, _just_ where he wants it, and the coils around his legs are squeezing slowly in a brilliant anodyne to the remaining half-numb tingles and soreness and he has no desire remaining to be anything other than a very, very good boy. He thinks longingly of squirming in pleasure, but can’t seem to manage it; it is all he can do to blink slowly up at the Doctor, who is watching him with a very satisfied fascination.

He would enjoy it _more_ if the Doctor would move his hand.

The Doctor laughs softly, bends to kiss Jack’s brow, the bridge of his nose, his bulging cheek. The tentacle retreats, trailing a wet caress over Jack’s lips and chin, and the Doctor’s tongue takes its place just briefly. His fingertips massage delicately below the base of Jack’s cock, which, while _technically_ movement - “Shh, shh,” he soothes, as Jack tries to remember how to beg. “I’ll take care of you, but I’ll do it as I like.” Which is just right, just the way it should be; just the reminder Jack needed. Letting himself sink back into receptive submission, Jack watches his lover, silent, willing, hiding nothing. "There," the Doctor says tenderly, "there's my good boy."

It washes through Jack like warm rain, leaves him lightheaded. He gasps, mouth open and yearning, and then the Doctor's lips meet his, the Doctor's tongue fills his emptiness, the Doctor's hand presses heavy in promise. When he pulls away Jack lies still and waits, arousal held suspended in his lover’s careful grip.

“Nurse Shua?”

“Your Jack is well, Doctor,” the nurse assures him. “He should drink more soon.”

Beaming happily down at Jack, the Doctor says, “Not just yet,” which is more disappointing than Jack would have expected. He tries to lick the tentacle coiled under his chin but can’t quite reach; the Doctor’s smile edges just a little darker and he closes his fingers in a grip that makes Jack’s toes curl. “Nothing inside his mouth, please, unless it seems necessary. I would welcome your creativity elsewhere, though.”

Whatever it is Nurse Shua does to make his face light up like that, Jack _wants_ it.

“Oh, yes,” the Doctor agrees, fingertips rubbing absently again with a pressure that is beginning to feel like a very loving pickaxe straight through Jack’s groin. “ _Oh_. Yes, he’ll like that -”

Then the gentling hand is gone, replaced by something slithering up the aching length of him, around and around - something squirming slick and determined against the head of his cock, something small but _not small enough_ -!

Whining and shuddering, Jack shakes his head desperately, begs, “No, please, no, no -” He _doesn't_ want it, not like that!

“Yes,” the Doctor insists, “trust me, Jack,” and how could he ever do anything else? Jack gives in and just moans, hips jerking as the thin tentacle works at his slit, sharp and fiery and just at the edge of pain. To his immense relief Nurse Shua doesn’t seem to be making any real attempt to penetrate him there; it feels enormous, probably the same size as the one that crawled up his nose, _much_ too big for this purpose but the squirming is certainly giving his imagination wildly interesting fodder - 

“That’s the smallest you can do?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Hm,” he says, but he doesn’t sound disappointed. His hand is on Jack’s belly now, sliding firm over the immense curve of it, pressing in at the top but there is nothing in his stomach to press back - Jack’s mouth is open, searching for something to fill him, he can feel the tentacle that is always near stroking his throat but his mouth is so _empty_ \- The one on his cock slips down, squirms with deliberate precision, and then there is a growing sense of fullness Jack can’t understand at all. He gasps shallowly, fallen utterly still in confusion.

“Do you like that, Jack?”

His cock feels heavy, constricted, _stretched_ in some baffling way. He shakes his head, but he doesn’t mean _no_ , and stares up at his lover in complete mental disarray.

The Doctor stares back, wide-eyed. “That… is a very good look on you, Captain, truly delightful - I wonder how else I can -” He swallows harshly. “Let me…”

A twisting slide on his cock but the strange fullness doesn’t change; then the Doctor’s cool hand closes over him very, very carefully and Jack can finally make sense of the strangeness because there is more _there_ than there should be. The thin tentacle has worked itself inside his foreskin, coiled itself below the head of his cock, and now it sits there beneath his skin magnifying the gentle pressure and tiny movements of the Doctor’s hand immensely. Is this what the Doctor sounded so certain he would enjoy, because he isn’t sure -

Nurse Shua pushes his hips forward experimentally and Jack cries out, a staggering staccato exclamation as he shakes and shudders, “Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah!”

“Oh - _Jack_ -” The Doctor’s voice is choked, his eyes devouring pits as he watches Jack unravel. He swallows again, wets his lips; shifts slightly so he can press his other hand to Jack’s belly without moving the one on his cock. “The others, Nurse Shua?” Jack squeaks in anxious anticipation as he tries to catch his breath. What _others?_

The tentacle in his arse slips out, but he barely has time to wonder how that is anything but disappointing when a new assault leaves him howling in baffled, glorious overload. Something is squirming, pushing, stretching, sliding, forcing its way inside him in a way Jack _again_ can’t make sense of - pushing through his sphincter with a wild abundance of friction, blooming into a writhing cacophony inside him, nothing at all like the smooth, stretching pressure of something penetrating his plug. But it isn’t the sliding press of something fucking him either, not exactly, although there’s _lots_ of that - there’s _too much_ of it but not too much _inside_ him, not overstretched anywhere, just too much, too much, _too much_ -

There’s not _enough_ inside him. Nearly crying in frustration, Jack tries to catch the tentacle he can feel firm and slick against his cheek, tries to get his lips around it at least, finally resorts to licking it hungrily just to feel something with some part of his mouth. His nerves are on fire, delirious tremors of sensation shaking him as the squirming penetration pushes deeper; his cock is sliding in the Doctor's loose grip at no rhythm _he_ would choose and the pressure in his belly is coming in wrenching waves that somehow don't quite satisfy. Still trying to catch the elusive tentacle, Jack shudders and grunts through an orgasm that feels like it is escaping from a crimped hose, sharp and strained, reaching for more all the way through it until there is no more to be had.

Enervated and stunned, Jack waits to discover what his body will be made to do next.

“Alright, Jack?” Nothing for the moment, it seems. He opens his eyes to find the Doctor watching him with the kind of thrilled wonder he usually reserves for new forms of mathematics. Jack supposes this is the _mapping him out_ part. 

Keenly aware of the blunt tip pressed to the corner of his lips and the disappointing emptiness inside them, Jack grumbles, “Was that really necessary?” Whatever stupid thing the Doctor was testing must surely be done now.

The wonder softens to a warm sort of relief as he smiles. “Of course not. But it was fun. Go ahead, Nurse Shua,” his lover allows, and the tentacle slips inside. It’s nice, but doesn’t make up for not having it when he _wanted_ it. Sulkily, Jack turns his face to the mattress, tentacle still caught in his mouth. He is beginning to notice his bladder again, but thinking about it certainly isn’t going to help. The thing in his arse pulses and he twitches as it slithers out of him, one thin, tickly tentacle at a time. Instead of leaving, the last one curls up in a very sensitive spot, making Jack jerk and squirm with twinges of sensation as it settles in.

“See,” he mumbles around the comforting obstruction, not fighting the reactions being plucked from him. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“I believe you are the one experiencing difficulty resisting,” Nurse Shua says, tightening a single coil around Jack’s suspended left ankle in pointed understatement.

“Oh, it bites back!” Jack says, delighted, then lunges for the tentacle as it starts to retreat. “Mine.” Gentle fingers catch it for him and press it back into his mouth. Jack looks up, surprised, as it expands behind his teeth; not enough to block the flow of air or liquid, just enough to feel full. “Mm?”

“It _was_ a very good attempt,” the Doctor assures him with a fond smile. His hand drifts up to comb through Jack's wild mess of bed hair. “Thank you. But we wouldn’t want you escaping again, would we?” Very interested in the playful intensity in his eyes, Jack shakes his head. “No, of course not. I think you should fill yourself up for me now, Captain, all you can, just as much as you can take, stuff it all into this beautiful belly until you can't even imagine moving -" The hand has moved on to splay over Jack's expanded middle, to press and fondle, and Jack whimpers. He _feels_ full. There is no space waiting to be filled, no give; every bit he swallows will have to force open space for itself inside him. “Until the only thing I need to keep you trapped right here is your own body. I want you round and full and entirely insensible, Jack. Will you do that for me?” He doesn't say _can you._

“Mm-hm,” Jack agrees, not bothering to hide his enthusiasm. He sucks on the tentacle, but gets nothing.

“The sweet stuff, please,” the Doctor tells Nurse Shua, and Jack shudders in anticipation. “Nice and slow - he seems awfully eager, doesn’t he? I wouldn’t want him to hurt himself. All you have to do is swallow, Jack,” he says, his tone reassuring but the meaning behind the words very far from it. All he has to do is _keep_ swallowing, no matter how it hurts. Jack shudders again as the silky stream of liquid begins filling his mouth, and he moans quietly, and he swallows, watching the way the Doctor watches his throat work.

He already wants to feel it coming back up.

The Doctor settles down, wedging himself in tightly around Jack’s inflated midsection with a series of careful wriggles. Nurse Shua moves Jack’s limbs to accommodate the Doctor’s new position; the tentacles that cross between them soften and slither away to leave him pressed close, hand tracing absent patterns over the great round curve of Jack’s belly. He looks alarmingly thoughtful.

Jack swallows again and makes an inquiring noise.

“Well,” the Doctor says. “Well. _Depraved experimentation_ , you said.” His thumb swipes across Jack’s softening cock; the invasive tentacle curled up inside Jack’s foreskin squirms gently as it extracts itself. A rush of urine sprays out, then stutters to a halt before Jack feels entirely relieved. The Doctor’s lips tilt up. “That _was_ a request, wasn’t it?”

"Mm-hm." Feeling very well understood, Jack relaxes into the many-limbed embrace.

It isn’t long before his enthusiasm gives way to determined effort; his strained abdomen protests each further addition with a growing ache and a renewal of that pressure that shortens his breath and stretches his rib cage. Limp and relaxed between his lover and his tentacle monster, he lies still and concentrates on forcing each slow swallow down and in.

"He bites," the Doctor says, apropos of nothing. "Doesn't it hurt you?" Rolling his eyes as far to the side as he can manage, Jack can see his lover's hand raised, turning slowly as a tentacle twines through his fingers. The sight is more arousing than it has any right to be. Jack swallows, impatient again.

"It might, if I were not paying attention," Nurse Shua says. "But not much. Please try to bite down, Jack."

Obediently Jack bites down, gingerly at first then harder when he finds his efforts have little effect. Between the compressibility of the tentacle and its tough skin his teeth don’t find any purchase - but more to the point, the swelling behind his teeth becomes more firm the more he tries to close his jaws until he might as well have a solid rubber ball wedged between his teeth to prop his mouth open. Jack gurgles, having lost track of his swallowing, and a mouthful of what is meant to be filling him drools out onto the mattress although he tries to keep it in.

The Doctor leans in to lick at his lips, make little fluttering probes into his mouth with his tongue. “Do you like that, Jack?” Jack rolls his eyes and moans enthusiastically; the Doctor smiles. “Yes, I suppose it is obvious. You’re very fortunate Nurse Shua has such a delicate touch. Say thank you, Captain."

"'Ang oo," Jack repeats after swallowing again. 

A tentacle moves in a rolling curl up the back of his thigh, setting off a cascade of tingling sensation. “I am pleased my touch brings you pleasure.”

Eyes half-lidded, Jack moans quietly. He waits for the shivers to subside to swallow his next mouthful, but that makes it larger than usual and he feels the lump of it all the way down his esophagus until it reaches his bulging stomach and settles in to that increasingly uncomfortable fullness. Panting shallowly, Jack feels his next mouthful seeping out slack lips.

“You’re leaking, Captain,” the Doctor says, voice roughened. “So full…” He leans away from Jack’s view and then cool fingers wrap gently around Jack’s cock. The tentacle curled up in his arse pulses at the same time and Jack squeaks and jerks and feels another rush of urine escape, spraying his belly with warmth. “What a mess you are, leaking everywhere.”

Although fairly certain he is not entirely to blame for this, Jack tries very hard to get his next mouthful down successfully.

Fingertips rub wet skin and the Doctor makes a strange little noise, and then his tongue shoves hard into Jack’s mouth and Jack nearly chokes.

“Please ingest only small amounts of the filling gel, Doctor,” Nurse Shua says, holding Jack still as he twitches and coughs and wishes the tongue would come back. “It will thicken and may cause blockages when combined with normal digestive contents.”

Suddenly more leery of just what he has been filling himself with, Jack hesitates before his next swallow.

A finger pushes through his lips as the Doctor chuckles. “ _Now_ you’re concerned? You haven’t the faintest sense of self-preservation, do you? Let me do anything I want to you, fill you up until you’re stuffed solid, and you've no idea whether it's ever coming out." A terrified thrill shudders through Jack as he meets his lover’s dark eyes. “Oh, you _do_ like that, don’t you. You like to know it’s truly out of your control. You like that your body isn’t your own anymore.” Jack swallows again, breath hitching as the stretch becomes a new level of painful. “It’s _mine_. And, you know, Captain…” Shadows lurk in the depths of his eyes and Jack can’t look away. “Even if I do let you lay those enormous eggs, there’s no reason I ever have to let the rest of it out.”

Jack whimpers, heart racing, leaking again as he tries to catch his breath. He feels himself being bent backwards, slow but irresistible, Nurse Shua’s tentacles shifting him to ease open a little more space beneath his ribs. The Doctor kneels up in a fluid rush of bare limbs and tousled hair, lays both hands on Jack’s bloated belly.

"What a thing to have done to yourself." His hands are light, sliding around the circumference of Jack's misery, the coolness of them soothing on stretched skin - but even so the additional pressure wrenches a sob from Jack that bubbles in his throat. He swallows, not certain it will go down. It nearly doesn't. He swallows again, and again, dry, just trying to keep the rest of it from coming back _up_. "How full you are, Captain. How astonishingly much you can take."

He moves again and then it’s his cheek sweeping over Jack’s taut skin, the tickle of hair, the weight of his _head_ -

“Ah! Ah, uh, uh!” Jack protests, fighting down his stomach with desperate determination. The weight goes, but the Doctor doesn’t, still nuzzling into him with a face whose contours Jack has never been more aware of. He sobs as a hard nose presses into flesh that has no give at all left.

“The way you curl into him,” the Doctor says, sliding his hand along the tentacles holding Jack’s left leg up. They shift and slide to accommodate him and Jack moans, reminded of how open and exposed his lower half is. “Is that just reflex? Or was it protective? I won’t let him walk again, I’m sorry…” The hand continues down and then fingers are pressing inside him alongside the tentacle again, only it’s his arse this time and he’s just as open and defenseless there as his mouth is -

And then fingers are in his mouth as well, slipped under to where the slick stuff leaks out of him and sliding in, blocking its way, stretching him wider, too wide to swallow effectively now. Helpless against this invasion, Jack whimpers as the stuff builds up in his throat. He tries to close it but he can’t do that either, he can feel it creeping into his nose - he makes a noise but it comes out as a gurgle and he can’t draw a new breath to replace the air he’s lost. Teeth scrape over his belly and he can’t see the Doctor. He struggles, gets a hand halfway to his mouth before strong tentacles redirect it. The fingers in his arse pump slowly and the tentacle squirms and he hurts, he hurts, the whole stuffed mass of him strained with his attempts at movement but he also _wants_ and relief is so close -

The fingers are gone and Jack swallows violently to clear his mouth faster. The motion forces the rest of it out explosively and he breathes, and breathes, and hurts more, unrelieved and even more full.

Petting him in long, gentle strokes, the Doctor leans down to kiss his throat. “I want to fill you like this,” he murmurs. “I wish _I_ could fill you like this. You’re so beautiful.”

Jack moans weakly, gone limp again, relaxed into the shifting support of Nurse Shua’s tentacles. They pet him as well, blunt tips examining the shape of him, slithering down to coil around his cock, push wetly at his open rim without quite penetrating. The flow into his mouth has slowed, he thinks; it seems easier to keep up with.

“It thickens,” the Doctor says thoughtfully. “How fast does it thicken?”

“He will experience difficulty expelling it within three hours,” Nurse Shua replies. Jack whimpers. He will _experience difficulty_ if the Doctor makes him hold this much inside for _three hours_ -!

Jack looks up to find the Doctor watching him with a hungry curiosity that sends shivers down his spine.

"Mm-mm," he begs, without any expectation of a protest changing his lover's mind in the slightest. Fingertips brush his temple fleetingly and the Doctor smiles.

"Hush, Captain. Just keep swallowing. That's the only thing you have to worry about, right now. We'll take care of you."

That, Jack has no doubt about whatsoever. Eyes never leaving his lover, he forces down another mouthful, and then another. His shallow exhales become low moans of pain as his distended abdomen protests the abuse and the Doctor's hands never stop moving over the hard, heavy centre of him.

Finally, Jack can swallow no more. He tries; his throat simply won’t make the motion. The stuff dribbles from his slack lips, collects in a growing puddle about his face as the Doctor watches his final weak struggles to obey. 

Voice rough, his lover says, “ _Jack_ ,” and swallows harshly. For that voice, Jack can do anything. He forces down one more mouthful, somehow; then the tentacle is pulled carefully from his mouth. “That’s enough, Captain, stop now.” Fingers trace down his face. “The things you’ll do for me, Jack…” He sighs, eyes shadowed by drawn brows. Jack is having trouble focusing his eyes. He is too full to move. “I should not be pleased if you burst yourself.”

Blinking slowly, Jack mumbles, “‘es, Do’tor.” Leftover rivulets of the sweet stuff spill out with the words and a reluctant little noise like _hng_ escapes the Doctor and if he _will_ make amazing sounds like that then of course Jack will try his best, his absolute best -

Fingers dive into his hair to tip his face up as hungry lips cover his and a tongue invades his mouth to lap up what is left there. Jack moans and opens wide and submits fully to the manipulations of his aching, stretched body.

“Yes,” the Doctor groans when he finally pulls away. He takes Jack’s hand and sets it on his immense belly, ever so slightly bigger than last time he was stuffed full. “Feel how full you are, Jack. Feel how much you’ve taken for me.”

It isn't as though he _couldn't_ feel it, of course, but feeling the outside of it is always a new thrill. It seems too big to be real, skin and muscle stretched taut over the solid round mass inside as if Jack were simply the hollow container for eggs and nesting materials. Even if he were unplugged it is all far too big to come out. He whines anxiously, assailed by visions of being sliced open, peeled away from the treasure inside like a discarded fruit rind. The Doctor interlaces their fingers to squeeze his hand.

"No," he says gently. "It isn't like that at all, Captain, I know you've done that before but the eggs won't get any bigger. Everything comes out the way it went in. You'll enjoy it." Jack believes him, but the anxiety doesn't entirely go. "Shh, I'll show you, soon." He presses Jack's hand down just a little harder and Jack groans, feeling the strain everywhere inside; swallows, to keep it from escaping the only way it can. “There you are. That’s what I want, Captain, hold it in for me.”

Jack swallows again, just to be sure, and relaxes into his new task; the Doctor beams down at him with a loving warmth that Jack soaks up like sunlight.

His lover looks up and past him, smile quirking into something a little darker. “Keep him a little bit distracted, please, Nurse Shua?” His eyes return to Jack, deep and dark, as he extracts his fingers from Jack’s grip. “Hold it in, Captain. I’ll be back after breakfast.”

Eyes going wide, Jack tries to grab his hand back but he doesn’t make it before Nurse Shua catches his arm gently and smooths out the momentum before he can wrench his belly. “No, p’ease,” he begs, lips and tongue still not quite coordinated. This isn’t the kind of fullness he can hold, not without help -! “Can’t, _p’ease_.”

“Yes, you can,” the Doctor insists. He bends down to kiss Jack, so Jack tries that, tries to make it the most irresistible kiss he has ever given - and that’s saying a lot - because maybe he is persuadable that way -

Breathing heavily, the Doctor finally pulls away. His eyes are dilated nearly to black and he swallows thickly. “You - Jack, I -” Jack watches hopefully, but the Doctor shakes his head as if to clear it and sighs, brows quirked. “No, Captain, you won’t win like that. If it’s too much you know what to do. And no, you can’t have help, for just that reason. Nothing blocking your mouth. Nurse Shua can’t hear telepathic safe words. I want you to hold it in, Jack, and you can do anything I want you to do.”

Jack subsides reluctantly at the reminder. “Don’t _want_ to,” he complains.

The Doctor smirks. “That is an entirely different problem.” Then his smirk turns positively wicked. “So, what you _do_ want to do -” Jack groans and turns his face into the mattress, thankful the puddle has mostly been absorbed. “Tell me, Captain.”

“Want it out,” Jack mumbles.

“No, no. I want to hear you say it.”

He can _taste_ it, it’s all he can taste, it’s all he’s been able to think about since they started - the feel of it, thick and slimy, the way it forces its way up his throat, pours from his mouth like a fountain, the way the relief of it pulses through his entire body, every overstretched cell of it - Jack moans sickly and swallows, swallows, swallows to keep it down. He can’t come yet. Not until the Doctor says.

He moans again when he catches up with that thought.

Cool fingers slide through his hair. “It’s not so bad to admit, is it, Jack? It’s not so bad to admit you want what I want, too.” Fingernails scratch gently at his scalp and Jack wants to melt into a puddle right there; a puddle that doesn’t have to admit to anything. The hand slides down his neck, cups his throat.

“Want to throw up,” Jack sighs, defeated; and then has to fight his stomach down again. “Want you to make me throw up.”

“There’s a good boy,” the Doctor whispers, and bends to kiss him again. “It will feel even better for holding it a little while, I promise. Hold it in for me, Jack.” And then he is gone, up and off the bed and Jack is left humiliated and aroused and messy and so, so full, trapped by his own belly and awaiting his lover’s pleasure. He moans as tentacles writhe gently across his skin, and breathes, and holds it in.


	14. Experimentation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nurse Shua has some fun, the Doctor continues his investigations, and Jack fusses all the way through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Tentacles, bondage, begging, orgasm denial, orgasm delay, consent play, safe words, limits, emetophilia, omorashi, sounding.
> 
> I'm afraid the time between updates is what it is - I'm doing the best I can. I hope you continue to think it's worth the wait. :)

He thinks about letting it out; he can’t help it. Every breath he takes increases the pressure inside, every exhale backs it off, a relentless reminder of the relief he craves so intensely. It quickly turns into a mantra. Shallow inhale, relax to let the pressure inside push the air back out, swallow to keep it all down. Inhale, relax, swallow; inhale, relax, swallow.

Only slightly less quickly, the world begins to fall away. Perhaps he would not have tried quite so hard, had he known he would have to hold it so long.

It’s a comforting thought, but he knows it’s probably not true.

Inhale; relax; swallow.

Limp and docile, he lets the unceasing movement on his skin wash against him, break over him without making an impression.

Even when it gets more insistent.

“Jack,” someone says, but it’s not the Doctor so Jack ignores it, mostly. “Please respond, Jack.” He hums obligingly on his next exhale, without otherwise moving. “Thank you.” There is a pause. 

Inhale; relax; swallow.

“Keeping you distracted appears to be a more difficult task than I was anticipating,” Nurse Shua notes. There seem to be a number of thin tentacles slithering through his hair, tugging unpredictably as they massage his scalp, and against his will Jack _is_ becoming somewhat distracted. One curls around his left ear, traces its contours delicately - and then, with an awful squelching sound, dives in.

“Hey!” Shuddering, Jack attempts to bat the tickly thing away, dragging along the supporting tentacle that wraps around his arm. He regards the little bursts of bright blue that flash over its surface suspiciously as he pulls the obstruction from his ear. “Whazzat for?”

“To elicit a reaction,” Nurse Shua says peaceably, its amusement - if that's what the blue is - inaudible. 

“Go ‘way." 

“The Doctor has instructed me to distract you.”

"No,” Jack suggests, and tries to sink back into the aching fullness.

"You may, of course, protest to whatever extent optimizes your experience," Nurse Shua agrees, continuing the absolutely divine scalp massage. Jack can't help but laugh at the accurate summary, which unfortunately draws him further from his relaxed haze.

"Figured that out, did you?"

"Some time ago. I had wondered if you would begin to argue with me as well, instead of reassure me. Is it a signal of trust?”

“Oh, God,” Jack groans, turning his head to provide access to more of it. “You are unnaturally good at this. I guess it is, yeah.” He shudders, frissons chasing across his scalp and down his neck, cascading down his spine to make him twitch against the tentacles that are there, too, of course they are - they’re everywhere, absolutely everywhere. Twining amongst his toes, squeezing his _feet_ which he only now realises have been hurting in that way muscles do when unused for too long - his hands too, stretching his fingers, kneading his palms, and Jack lets out a strange little sobbing moan and arches in pleasure. It stretches him yet further and shifts the plug in his arse and he isn’t sure he has ever felt so many kinds of good all at once.

He swallows determinedly to keep the contents of his stomach settled, and feels good for the success of that, as well. 

“Jack,” Nurse Shua says again. Jack moans, but he was already doing that so perhaps it was a poor choice of response. “Jack,” the nurse repeats, and does something amazing but not at all relaxing with the tentacle curled up against his prostate. 

“Fuck!” he yelps; his hips jerk and the movement tears away the pleasant trance. “What!”

“My apologies. I am distracting you.” Delicate touches sweep across Jack’s painfully stretched belly, soothing the flesh back to pliant relaxation; but the tentacle in his arse pulses as well, and a thick coil presses up between his legs.

“Why?” Jack whines, shifting against its determined pressure.

“I have been asked to do so. You will have to ask your Doctor for further explanation, when he returns.”

But Jack is beginning to have a terrible suspicion. He shifts again, increasingly aware of an uncomfortable ache low in his pelvis. “You’re enjoying this,” he accuses, making an attempt to empty his bladder. It fails, and probably makes the hardon worse. “Both of you. Enjoying tormenting me.”

“I am enjoying it a great deal,” Nurse Shua agrees. Coils constrict around each of Jack’s wrists and ankles in a single pulse of movement and he moans appreciatively, distracted again. “My limbs are meant to coil and catch, and left to themselves they seek items to wrap around. I find it relaxing and pleasurable that I may indulge this tendency when engaged in caring for you.” A friendly tentacle squeezes Jack’s cock in a decidedly _non_ -autonomous manner and he exhales a surprised breath. “You are a very pleasant firmness for grasping.”

“Yeah?” Jack squeaks. He coughs and swallows emphatically. “Yeah. Very firm, that’s me.” He tries to stop squirming against the also very firm pressure behind his balls with little success. Between that and the tentacle twitching inside him and his slowly filling bladder he is having a difficult time following the conversation, much less keeping still.

“And you struggle in a very satisfying manner.”

Straining against the nurse’s hold, Jack gasps, “I wonder why!” The rippling massage of his feet begins to creep up his ankles and he arches again, groaning in pained ecstasy as the eggs inside shift again, sending a spike of needy discomfort through his groin and tormenting his stuffed stomach. “I can’t,” he sobs, trying to wrap his arms around his distended belly only to jerk away as the extra pressure threatens to overcome him. “I can’t fit anything else!”

Nurse Shua gently rearranges his arms, right arm stretched out in front of him and entangled with three or four brownish-purple tentacles of various diametres, left arm tucked up against his side with pleasantly resilient coils still filling his hand. He holds tight and watches the colours shift, trying to catch his breath as he is forced back to docile stillness.

“You need not fit any more,” the nurse assures him, curling slowly up his back. “Your body is simply redistributing the volume as it is designed to do.”

“Terrible design,” Jack pants. It’s far too easy to manipulate.

“A very good design.” The tentacle in his arse slips outward a bit, then back in, with just enough friction to leave him craving more. “Is this too much?”

“No,” he sighs, beginning to relax again in the break from more active distraction. “No, stay, if you like it.” He loosens his grip, then squeezes experimentally and is gratified to feel an answering pulse and slide through his hands.

“The warmth and constriction is extremely pleasant.” Another tentacle pushes between his arm and chest, inquisitive and slick, bunching and flattening as it slowly worms its way under; Jack tries to raise his arm to make space and finds he can’t. Once through, it curls leisurely over his bicep and does it again. “It was not flattery to call you an ideal nest.”

Content with his apparent success at providing pleasure, Jack shivers as the feeling of being slowly ingested feet first climbs slowly higher. “What else,” he offers, slightly slurred. He doesn't know what he'll do with anything else - his nerves are singing in oversaturated technicolor - but if _more_ is an option he wants to try it. “'m up for anything. What would you like?”

After a pause, Nurse Shua says, "I would like to lower your leg, if it will not cause you great discomfort."

"Go ahead," Jack agrees, disregarding the condition, and moans encouragingly as coils of tentacle rearrange themselves to settle his left leg atop his right, thighs pressed together around the thick intrusion that still lies between. The change in position sends a searing jolt up from his bladder and leaves his arse painfully stretched and compressed around the huge plug, but there will be plenty of time to complain later; for now he is curious. When a new tentacle wraps tightly around his knees he huffs an amused breath. "Hobbling me. You like me trapped as much as the Doctor does."

"Perhaps moreso," Nurse Shua agrees, entirely unselfconsciously. "A preference I am rarely able to fully indulge. Please do not attempt escape again."

"Was just playing," Jack mumbles. "Talk to the Doctor, _I'm_ not in charge here. _Ah_ -" The thickness between his thighs pulses, which is a fascinating sensation all on its own; then it begins to slide forward, smooth and sinuous, cupping and squeezing his balls without letting off the pressure in the slightest. Jack groans hungrily, tries to still hips that want to ride this experience as far as it will go. He watches in fascination as colours wash over the tentacles wrapped around his right arm, warm flushes of brown becoming more distinct on the light purple flesh.

Like the one under his arm, the tentacle between his thighs slithers up, and over, and down the back with a writhing shudder that leaves him crying out - then pushes back in and does it again, the changing angle and pressure sending another jolt through his uncomfortably pressurised bladder.

And again.

Jack’s leg is encased nearly to the knee in a seething sleeve of tentacle by the time his discomfort begins to make real headway against his arousal. He welcomes it with desperate relief, tries to relax and encourage the bedamned erection to do so as well, and finally it works, finally his bladder begins to empty in a rush that is very nearly orgasmic. He swallows hard to keep that thought from getting any further, moaning at the mingled pleasure and pain of release - and then there is a rippling thrust inside him and an encouraging grip on his cock and _orgasmic_ suddenly edges much closer to reality. "No fair!" Jack gasps, because he can't come, he _can't_ \- he takes hold with every bit of willpower he possesses to yank himself back from the brink and keep his stomach from ejecting everything the Doctor had entrusted to his care. His stomach subsides but so does the flow of urine and he howls in distress, deprived of relief yet again.

“Please,” he begs, shudders of aftershocks shaking him although they aren’t _after_ anything, “please, I need a piss, please stop, please let me - it _hurts_ -”

The tentacle nestled against his jaw strokes his face gently; the one between his legs continues its remarkable assault. “Hurting you is not my desire. Is this the result your Doctor anticipated?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jack moans, too far gone to consider clever misdirection. “Yes, you’re doing it right, please stop -!”

But it doesn’t stop.

“I will respect your safewords with no hesitation, Jack,” Nurse Shua reassures him, all the while driving him softly into madness. Jack sobs as he struggles, bucks and twists as much as he can and kicks ineffectually as the eggs inside bump about and send shocks through his abused bladder. His arse hurts with a deep and steady ache and his belly must have found a little more space somehow because he feels like he has reached a queasy détente with it, no longer having to fight it down with every breath. Instead every stuffed piece of him seems combined into an overwhelming vastness and he feels himself stretched around it, shaped and moulded by the tentacles covering most of his body. He turns his head restlessly, trying to catch the one by his mouth, but he can't. Without a hope of rescue or any hint of desire to save himself, he begs and whimpers, twitches and squirms, alternately grinding down against the pulsing firmness between his legs and trying fruitlessly to arch away from it.

If it’s grasping and constriction and struggling that Nurse Shua enjoys, Jack hopes it is having a very, very good time. His own erotic misery is becoming wonderfully all-consuming.

When a cool hand settles under his chin, Jack offers no resistance. “What a good boy you are, Captain,” the Doctor murmurs, voice rough, as he tilts Jack’s head back. Jack can see him now, leaning over from his perch at the edge of the mattress behind Jack’s shoulders. “Suffering here for me so patiently.”

How long has it been? How long has he been there _watching?_

His hand slides downward slowly, cupping Jack’s throat with a firm pressure that calls the simmering arousal in his blood up to a full boil in seconds. Jack whines eagerly, words gone missing in anticipation. The hand continues downward, caressing the tendrils that cross his chest as willingly as it does his own skin, until it comes to rest at the top of the hard swell of his belly.

“So full,” the Doctor marvels. “I have a surprise for you, Captain, but first… A good boy should be rewarded, don’t you think? Has he been good, Nurse Shua?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

The hand lifts and the bed shifts and then the Doctor is kneeling behind him, hard thigh like a padded bar against the back of Jack’s neck, another at his shoulder blades, and a hand clamps down over his throat to hold him in place as cold fingers slide like ice chips down his belly to explore lower, and lower. More trapped now than ever, Jack's heart pounds as he shivers under his lover's hands. Finally the Doctor slips his fingertips into the slick leaking from Jack's cock and presses down and in at the top of his pelvis, massaging gently. "Are you holding it all in for me, Jack?"

"Yes, Doctor," Jack gasps, wriggling like a fish on a hook again; although maybe it isn't true, because he can feel the little spurts and sprays of wetness escaping him now. The Doctor makes a choked, overwhelmed little noise and abruptly Jack is fighting his stomach again because the tormenting hand is sliding heavy over stretched skin, upsetting the fragile equilibrium he had reached after all the waiting. Reminding him just how much he does want the promised emptying.

“Are you ready?” his lover whispers. The hand on Jack’s throat strokes upward as well, fingertips following every contour, palm caressing his jaw, and Jack’s stomach clenches enthusiastically. 

“Please,” Jack begs, swallowing through the constriction.

“Can you - I don’t want it hurting him again,” the Doctor says, which Jack can’t make sense of until he feels squirming movement against his arse and the force and friction of additional tentacles pushing inside him. He yelps in surprise and tries to pull away, impossible as that is with even his neck pinned firmly; but instead of filling his already painfully full arse further they catch at his open rim and _pull_ , stretching him wider in preparation. Almost wishing they _would_ push in, Jack squirms as he tries to relax into the violating sensation. The hand on his neck slides down, and back up again, until the Doctor is stroking in a smooth motion that has Jack begging mindlessly, shuddering with every flare of fingertips over his collarbone, fighting the orgasm churning in his belly with increasing desperation every time the heel of his lover's hand drags upward.

“ _Please_ ,” Jack moans. He doesn’t know if the Doctor will let him come, or whether he wants to force it out whilst Jack resists all the way down. He has been resisting for _so long_ -! “Can’t, please, _need_ -” 

“Yes,” the Doctor groans. “Now, Jack.”

Jack opens his mouth and surrenders.

The first spasm rips through him, wringing the breath from his lungs in a hoarse shout and forcing the plug out of his arse, pain and pleasure too mingled yet to distinguish. Heat presses up his esophagus, bubbles into his throat, fills his mouth, unstoppable as a gushing spring; the slimy, congealed feel of it just makes him heave harder. The relief is monumental. The pleasure is intense, sizzling in every nerve as Jack loses control of his body completely. He can feel his cock spilling - what exactly it is spilling, he wouldn’t care to guess - held in a slithery grip, and the way his legs are held together makes the plug fucking him feel amazing, and he has never felt more helpless and secure in his life. The sweet taste fills his mouth again and again as he convulses, spills from his lips in a thick flow that seems neverending, and the hand on his throat keeps him anchored to every second of it. 

When it finally does stop, Jack lays still, gasping for breath.

Just as he realises the sharp pain below his belly has _not_ stopped, the Doctor shifts away, fingers trailing lightly down Jack’s shoulder. “A little more yet, Captain,” he murmurs, and then he _tugs_ and Jack is tipping backward, falling flat to his back with a terrified shout, bloated belly following in a horrible surging ripple that tears at strained skin and muscle until tentacles come around and lift it atop him.

The pressure in his bladder abruptly becomes unendurable. Cool fingers wrap around his cock and Jack howls as the accumulated urine geysers out of him, a stabbing, burning pleasure that feels like a second orgasm. The Doctor is watching him with hungry fascination and Jack just stares blankly, too shocked to react, as it all spatters down over him in an unwelcome shower.

“There you are,” the Doctor says, reaching to brush sweat soaked hair from Jack’s forehead. He kicks weakly, legs unrestrained now, and moans. “Shh. How was that? Worth the wait?” Jack moans again, emphatically, and the Doctor smiles. “Did you like it thicker, like that?”

Not yet sure of the answer, Jack turns his head to let the remnants of it drool out onto the mattress but instead the Doctor’s fingers push into his mouth and he has to swallow so he doesn’t choke. It’s nowhere near as nice going down a second time, slightly clumpy and seasoned with his stomach acid; he gags and nearly retches.

Which is accompanied by a spike of pleasure and a strong urge to suck on the fingers in his mouth.

The Doctor’s eyes narrow and his lips quirk up. Jack closes his eyes against the humiliation of being so thoroughly trained, but all his tormentor says is, “I’m glad you’re enjoying it, Captain,” as he pumps his fingers slowly between Jack’s slick, messy lips. No fight left in him, Jack gives in and whimpers as he sucks on them, vaguely distressed by the lack of anything to swallow. “Good boy,” the Doctor whispers, which somehow makes it both better and worse.

After a long moment of busying itself with careful arrangement of Jack’s limbs and delicate prods at his belly, Nurse Shua notes, “Emesis is not a standard mode of orgasm for humans.”

The Doctor laughs quietly. “Oh, I know. It’s nonstandard for _this_ human, even. It’s a new thing I’m trying. I told you, it’s shocking what he lets me do to him… It’s going to be terribly inconvenient for him when we’ve gone from here, I suspect, but he’ll think of me every time he comes.” As long as he isn’t picky about exactly _what_ Jack thinks of him, Jack supposes that might be true. “You may curse my name all you like, Captain,” the Doctor adds generously, bending to kiss the apex of his crushing mound of belly. His other hand still cradles Jack’s softening cock in a possessive grip, as if Jack were some treasured thing, a beloved object in need of care. Coils of tentacles pulse softly, twisting slowly as they creep over his skin. The weight of it all settles over him with a suppressing gravity, gentling the fever pitch of his nerves and sinking Jack into a state of sustained afterglow.

"He does not stay with you?"

"Oh, no," the Doctor says, voice gone surprisingly wistful. Jack opens his eyes, concerned, but his lover is smiling down at him adoringly. "Never for long. Like ships passing in the night, we are. Throw out a line and hitch ourselves together for a brief dance. Here we are." Jack smiles back at him, dazed by the open demonstration; the Doctor takes advantage of it to extract his fingers from Jack's mouth. “He’s been wanting to come here for some time. You don’t disappoint.”

“I am pleased you are satisfied,” Nurse Shua says.

“Very much so. Very much.” He watches Jack silently for another little while, eyes unusually gentle as he runs fingers through Jack’s hair, and Jack needs no words to know he has done well. Then the Doctor looks away and says, “Will you help me with this? I found these -” He reaches for something Jack can’t see. “Now seems a good time to start. We’ll need some lubrication. Just relax, Jack.”

Ejected abruptly from his blissful haze by this ominous sounding directive, Jack begins to say, “What -” But his voice jumps an octave when something presses hard against the head of his cock and he can feel something seeping the wrong way up his urethra - the lubrication, it must be, which means -

“Shh, relax,” the Doctor orders again, everything he is doing hid by the boulder pinning Jack down in the middle.

“No, wait -” Jack yelps, flailing, and the Doctor says, “Hold his hands, please, Nurse Shua?” and then his wrists are pulled irresistibly above his head, coils of tentacle wrapped over his palms to hold onto, and it’s _wonderful_ , he takes the deepest breath he’s had _all day_ -

Which just makes the yelling louder when something smooth and hard and very cold pushes into his slit and slides with a controlled inevitability up through tissues still swollen and sensitive from the Doctor’s _last_ experiment.

“Fuck! Wait! Hey, fuck, give a guy a little warning!” It slips in far too easily, lending an unnatural stiffness to flesh now trying to stiffen again itself, stretching and filling him with a new kind of fullness. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He kicks too, but only halfheartedly, because Nurse Shua is the only one in range and it isn’t who he wants to kick. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” his bastard of a lover asks, peering down at him with that sadistic, seductive gleam in his eye whilst toying with the rod impaling his cock. Out a little; in a little, with a bit of a _wriggle_ and a squeeze that makes his eyes cross - “Thank you, Captain, you took that quite well.” Jack moans in relief as it pulls slowly out.

Another, _thicker_ , rod probes at his slit.

“No, please, come on, I just - you just -” Jack begs as the rounded tip sinks in, slowly stretching the head of his cock around it. It doesn't hurt, quite, and he doesn't dislike it, quite - it's just too much, and he doesn't know how much more he can take. “I don’t want to do this right now, Doctor, _please_!”

And then Jack makes the mistake of looking up at his lover's face. It’s that beautiful look of utter absorption that always takes Jack’s breath away, all the brilliance of that amazing mind shining out, all his attention focused laser-sharp on his work - and his work right now is _Jack_ , just Jack, only Jack occupying all his thoughts and senses and actions. It takes his breath away again. The Doctor flicks a glance over to him and the answering joy in his eyes is deep and fierce.

“I don’t want to,” Jack says, his voice the first part of him to break.

“I want you to,” the Doctor replies, and that is the end of it.

He works the sound in with immense care, Jack’s cock held delicately in one hand as he delves deeper and deeper with each slow thrust. “So good for me, Captain,” he murmurs quietly as Jack whimpers and tosses his head, tugs at his wrists and digs his heels into the mattress in an increasingly mindless protest of hard metal filling a passage he never thinks of as empty. The callused pad of the Doctor's thumb rubs at the place Jack is pierced, pressing sensitive flesh against a rigidity that magnifies every movement ten-fold and leaves Jack reeling, gasping for breath as overwhelmed tears prickle at his eyes. "Shh, Captain, shh. You can do this for me. A little more."

When it is finally in as deep as it will go, the cold curved end of it caught against his skin, the Doctor lets it fall still. Too far gone to feel anything but gratitude for the respite, Jack moans softly. His hips twitch, tiny involuntary jerks that get him nowhere at all. Escape is impossible. Fingers brush over his face, down his cheek, press briefly into his open lips. 

“You know we’re not done yet,” the Doctor murmurs, a dire threat delivered in a voice so loving Jack doesn’t register it immediately. Then his eyes fly open to meet the Doctor’s eager smirk; the hand on his cock cinches down and the spike impaling him slides outward at a steady, agonising crawl. The feel of it dragging through his constricted urethra ricochets up his spine and Jack wails breathlessly as his back tightens like a bowstring, upsetting everything that had been resting peacefully inside him. A trickle of urine follows it out and Jack collapses, panting, staring unseeing at the ceiling, holding tightly to the tentacles twined around his hands for what comfort they can offer as the eggs resettle ponderously inside him.

He bursts into tears when cold metal touches his cock again.

"Oh, beautiful," the Doctor croons, rocking the tapered tip into him with a gentle care that undoes him yet further. It feels much too big. "Look at you, my beautiful Captain. You're so lovely when you cry for me, Jack."

With nothing left to care for but his lover’s approval, Jack sobs without reserve as the burning stretch peaks and shifts slowly inside. In moments the stretching feeling is renewed; not only is this rod wider, it is beaded, smooth bumps spaced along the length. The entire insertion will be like this, repeated stretching, no rest for his protesting flesh as it works him open. The Doctor’s hand encloses him with surpassing gentleness but if he _did_ squeeze -

It's all so much.

Another bump slips in as the Doctor works the sound deeper millimetre by aching millimetre. "Good lad," he murmurs, voice low and soothing under the noise of Jack's own harsh sobs and shallow gasps. "Brave lad. Taking all this for me, letting me give you so much more than you want, more than you think you can handle. Maybe as much as you need, Jack, maybe right up to the limit, let me fill you up and break you down until you can't take one single thing more…"

Jack lies limp as his cock is stuffed full of hard lumps, just like his gut, just like his arse and belly too full to function now, too heavy to move, too overwhelmed to object. Tears run freely, dripping into his ears or collecting beside his nose if he turns his head. He wants something in his mouth, he wants something down his throat and then his fullness will be so complete there surely won't be any room left for _him_ , and then -

And then, maybe, peace. Just for a little while.

"Jack," says the voice. Movement has ceased. Cold metal curls over the tormented head of his cock; the end of the sound. He tries to move a hand, but he is still confined.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me, Jack?" the Doctor coaxes. His hand still holds Jack light as a feather but the threat of more is too much.

This is all he can take.

"Yellow," he whispers, yellow caution tape, yellow lines in his mind. He almost never uses that one; it feels like taking back control. Right now it feels like balancing on a knife's edge. He would rather be taken through into red and then bask in the recovery. Finding his exact limits is more the Doctor's style.

Very gently, the Doctor lays his heavy cock against his belly; clasps something lightly around, just below the head, and Jack suspects the sound is locked in for now. Nurse Shua brings his arms down, rotating his shoulders carefully and letting him keep hold of the coils that run through his hands. Cool fingers brush the slowing tears from his face; cool lips kiss his forehead, his closed eyes, his wet cheeks. Sighing in relief, Jack opens his mouth for the tongue that licks at his lips and welcomes it in.


	15. Aesthetics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is stretched and stuffed in aesthetically appealing ways, then thoroughly appreciated and enjoyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: sounding, safe words, pushing limits, stuffing, belly worship, force feeding, pain, subspace, lots of tentacles.
> 
> Author's note: Since this story has been coming along slowly, I thought I might post some shorter PWP pieces with a similar Doctor/Jack dynamic (though less kinky, sorry) as treats in the meanwhile. So in service of that I am de-anonymising this story so they can all be found together easily. :) 
> 
> Also, I've got some other things I really need to work on, so most likely Fill will not get any more updates until December. Hope you enjoy this one in the meanwhile.

Eventually the Doctor pulls away; Jack notices only dimly, lost under the crushing fullness. A cold fingertip settles at the base of his cock, just beyond where the sound reaches. Jack gasps at the touch and the rush of oxygen brings a fresh rush of sensation as it clears some of the fog. In a very gentle voice his lover says, “Keep breathing, please, Jack. I know it’s not easy right now. I’m going to keep you like this for a little while, just at the edge of too much, and I want you with me all the way.”

The fingertip rocks forward and Jack whimpers helplessly as it jostles the hard bulges stretching his cock. It pushes a little harder - the whole thing shifts minutely - “Yellow,” Jack sobs, voice cracking.

“Good lad,” the Doctor murmurs, moving on to stroke his bulging belly with light, steady pressure. His other hand cups Jack’s cheek, coaxes his head to the side. “Turn your head and let Nurse Shua give you some water.” Jack obeys blindly, trembling under his lover’s hands in renewed overload; lets his mouth be filled, spits when directed, swallows when ordered. It goes down only with great difficulty, the weight of his belly pushing everything inside him to its limits.

All of him, at his limits.

He moves, and instead of pain he feels tentacles supporting him weightlessly; he moans, and lips press against his for a moment. Jack whimpers when they leave, feeling the emptiness in terrible contrast to the rest of him. When he roots open-mouthed after them he hears a choked little noise from his lover.

"Oh, Jack -"

"May I?" Nurse Shua asks, and the Doctor must have nodded because the smooth tip of a tentacle pushes through Jack's lips and settles inside, firm and satisfyingly thick. Jack lets his head tip back to open his mouth wider and moans happily. "Has he truly never done this before? He seems remarkably well suited to nesting."

"Not to my knowledge," the Doctor replies. His hands slide over Jack's belly, forcing waves of pressure through his insides that feel experimental, sometimes repeated to draw reactions from him again. "He was waiting until I was someone who could do it with him, I suppose." 

Jack moves a hand carefully until he finds familiar skin, lets his fingers curl around and holds on.

"I'm here, Jack," the Doctor says quietly. His hands slip downward and Jack jerks in anticipated pain as the pressure draws a momentary complaint from his bladder - but instead the discomfort drains away in a warm wash over his skin and he sighs in melting relief. Stuffed, but not plugged; he needn't bear that pain again, for now. "Alright, Jack?"

He moans quietly, content.

One hand caresses the apex of his belly; the other continues its path downward, and Jack tenses again as it traces a ticklish path along where his cock lies. Then skin on skin, an easy glide along the too-tight length of him - his hips rock and the bumps press harder and Jack cries out as his back arches. "Yellow," he forces out, and the Doctor's hand lifts away even though all he actually says is an emphatic _ehhh_ around the tentacle stopping his mouth. After a moment the hand returns without motion, only holding his cock gently against his belly; and that, he finds he can bear.

He doesn't want to stop. He wants _this_ , wants to be allowed to rest here at the edge, mindless and replete.

The Doctor keeps Jack anchored with a long line, drifting on the slow currents of movement around him; the sweep of cool hands, the pulsing curl of tentacles, the slick slide of their tips along contours of strained flesh. Every so often he reels Jack back in with exploratory touches to his stuffed cock, a gentle squeeze, a sweep of fingertips along the length, a thumb that digs in with exquisite care and leaves Jack gasping again, crying _yellow, yellow_ until it’s the only word he knows.

_No more, but please, please don’t stop._

He doesn't stop.

"It's a funny thing about limits," the Doctor muses, ringing Jack's cock with careful fingers. Already whimpering in helpless anticipation, Jack listens to his voice, tries to follow his words. "Sometimes, if you can stay just inside them, they can be…" He strokes slowly, and as he does he lets the rest of his hand come to settle there as well, a welcoming sleeve for Jack's aching cock. The ball of his hand presses just along the underside, sliding over the hard lumps inside. Jack can hear his own muffled cries, but not control them. Bending down over him, the Doctor draws a line up to his ear with the tip of his tongue and whispers, "Stretched."

Jack thinks about saying _yellow_ , and doesn't.

Teeth scrape over his earlobe and he shudders. "Are you feeling stretched, Jack?" the Doctor asks. His hand doesn't stop. Overwhelmed tears seep from Jack's eyes and he feels the rasp of a cool tongue lapping one up. The tentacle in his mouth pulses and pushes against the roof of his mouth just enough to remind him of its presence. Relieved to be given a task, Jack sucks on it with a will between shallow breaths, forces down what little moisture he is given. He whines and writhes in slow, aimless reaction and gradually the gentle movement mellows into an aching pleasure.

The bed shifts and the weight of the Doctor’s head settles on Jack’s shoulder. “Do you like that?” his lover murmurs, breath cool on fevered skin. Jack hums, enervated and content, and maneuvers an arm closer to hold him. Head resting heavier as he relaxes, the Doctor sighs, “Oh, good. Sometimes I'm… not entirely certain.”

He doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t escalate further; just lets the movements of his hand stretch into longer strokes as Jack drifts slowly in from the limits of sensation. 

“Breathe, Jack,” the Doctor reminds him again.

He has been - of course he has been - maybe less than he thought, because the breath he takes clears away some of the drifting feeling and without the Doctor driving him to distraction all the various discomforts of lying belly up come rushing back in. Jack shifts awkwardly, but there is no escaping the dull agony of his plugged arse, delicate tissues compressed and distorted by the solid intrusion coiling through him. He tries pushing up onto his heels but that hurts in other ways. The Doctor's head leaves his shoulder and Jack peels an eyelid open to see his lover looking him over, somewhat dismayed. He makes an inquiring noise and the tentacle in his mouth slips out, presses reassuringly against the corner of his mouth.

“Well. Could you bear being moved now, do you think? Only someone seems to have made an awful mess of you again…"

Jack laughs, and laughs harder at the offended look that follows, and then regrets it thoroughly when the movement is too much and his arse begins to spasm in an attempt to rid itself of the immense plug. It doesn't move, of course. "Help," he begs, bucking uncontrollably as the spasms spread. His cock bobs against his belly with the extra weight of the sound, sending jarring spikes of sensation through him. "Please, help -"

Nurse Shua slips tentacles around him, stills his cock, lifts and turns and cradles him close, and Jack groans in relief as the pressure inside backs off to merely severely overstuffed and not crushing. The feeling of his body trying to turn itself inside out is slower to subside, but much more interesting without the added stress of lying flat on his back. He undulates slowly in Nurse Shua's careful grip, shuddering.

"Alright, Jack?" A cool hand slips down his flank to rub firm circles at the base of his spine, which is somehow exactly what he needed to transform the chaotic storm of contractions into something far more pleasurable. His hips are trying to grind down on the plug filling him but there is nothing to push against. He whines and pushes back against the Doctor's hand instead. "More?"

"Please," Jack groans. He can feel every little bit of fullness inside him now and it's glorious.

The Doctor hums thoughtfully. "Easier done in the bath, I suspect. Nurse Shua, if you could?"

"Certainly. Excuse me." The coils supporting Jack pulse and tighten and he blinks hazily as he is lifted away from his lover. 

"Doc -"

Catching the hand reaching for him, the Doctor smiles and follows.

With some minor negotiation, Nurse Shua arranges Jack on his knees in the bath, draped over the comfortably rounded edge. The water is warm and the weight of his belly is held up by the water and Jack folds his arms under his head and moans happily, wriggling in renewed freedom as most of the tentacles confining him drop away. He rocks gently in the ripples as the Doctor settles behind him.

"As much as I do love seeing you all tangled up in tentacles, Captain, you're quite captivating like this, as well." The Doctor's voice is appreciative and his hands slide with a slow reverence up Jack's thighs, over his hips to rub heavy along his spine. Jack melts into the massage, sagging down into the bath gratefully as muscles relax and his body stops trying to evict his contents. His cock hangs stretched and swollen, caressed only by currents in the water now; he can feel every little movement in sharp definition but it is no longer overwhelming. The hands begin to roam, slipping down his bulging flanks to press gently at the firm fullness inside. Jack buries his face in his arms and groans as his belly sways side to side. "How marvelously round you are. I shall have to add _incubation_ to the list of things you are surprisingly good at, I suppose."

"You keep a list?" Jack mumbles, charmed despite himself. Why any of it ought to be _surprising_ , he doesn't know.

Instead of answering, the Doctor asks, "How do you feel?" Which isn't a _no_.

"Like some kind of stuffed bird. You going to eat me?"

The Doctor chuckles, hands wandering back to massage Jack's arse. "Not quite what I had in mind, no. You're alright for more, then?"

Although Jack is certain the Doctor didn't miss the way his pulse jumped in excitement, he forces his voice to a slightly less eager pitch. "What kind of more?"

Thumbs move purposefully inward, teasing at his rim. "Yes or no, Captain."

"Yes," Jack moans, pushing back against him.

"Good," the Doctor says. Perversely, the hands slide back up his spine.

"Hey!" Jack protests. "I was enjoying that." Craning his head around, he finds his lover watching him with hungry eyes and a warm smirk.

"I should certainly hope so. Nurse Shua, can you - I'd like him to stay hard with that sound in him, but I don't have the best angle -" 

Before Jack can quite process that, a tentacle slips around his dangling cock, spiraling up with the lightest of pressure. "Mm, yeah -" It tightens abruptly and Jack sinks his teeth into his arm with a startled, muffled yell as his impulses get confused. "Fuck! Ah, fuck!" He tries to push himself upright but a firm hand on his back keeps him bent over the side of the bath.

"Shh, you're alright, give it a moment, Captain."

"You don't even know -!" Jack protests, before breaking off in a groan as Nurse Shua organises the motion of its tentacle into a constricting wave and Jack's body abruptly decides orgasm is once again on the menu. "What it's doing to me!" he whines breathlessly. 

"Perhaps a little less, Nurse Shua," the Doctor suggests.

"My apologies," the nurse says, a fascinating mixture of colours Jack can't interpret flowing over the tentacles he can see. The grip on his cock eases, somewhat to Jack's disappointment. "The addition of the sounding rod enhances the experience more than I expected."

Very interested in this information, Jack twists around to see more of his de facto second partner. "Well, in that case," he offers, but the Doctor cuts him off.

"Hush, Captain. _For now_ , less. I want you relaxed."

He resumes massaging and Jack gives in to the gentler pleasure of being cared for. "Yes, Doctor."

The pressure of his hands rocks Jack forward and back, the movement becoming more pronounced as his hips relax until he is washing back and forth in a thoughtless daze, rolled in the incoming tide. 

"Jack," his love says. Jack hums agreeably. "Open your mouth, Jack, it's time for more water."

As he opens his mouth, Jack feels Nurse Shua adjust the position of his head slightly - then a tentacle slips straight down his throat before he can so much as blink. He flinches and tries to yell and gags all at once, his cock knocks against his belly jarringly and the eggs inside shift as his abdominal muscles clench. The Doctor is rubbing his back soothingly with one hand as he keeps the plug from forcing its way out with the other. 

"Shh, shh," he coaxes. "It's alright, you're alright, Captain. You can take this for me." He hasn't a choice, has he, trapped here between his lover and his very attentive tentacle monster with a clutch of eggs incubating in his belly, hard metal stretching his cock, an immovable plug in his arse, and now a tentacle snaking down his throat. Helplessness crashing in on him from all directions, Jack sobs once and collapses, giving up all thoughts of resistance to concentrate on regaining the ability to breathe. "There you are. Give it all to me, Jack, just let me take care of you. I'm going to stuff you as full as I can, and you're going to take it for me, aren't you? There's nothing you need to do or say or think, just relax and let us fill you up." His hands are gentle on Jack's back, down his sides; he leans forward to stroke Jack's hair and his hard cock nestles into the crease of Jack's arse like it was made to fit there.

Jack moans. He can feel the thing in his throat pulsing as it begins to pump the water that will inflate him to his limits. The tentacle coiled around his cock shifts delicately, clearly savouring the feel of him. The Doctor rocks his hips, igniting sensitive skin; his hands wander, and wander, and Jack feels himself expand.

The stretch inside is a steadily increasing thing; every constricted breath he takes ramps up the pressure, every exhale provides less relief. Jack moans more urgently and the hands roaming over him return to his back, soothing and unthreatening. 

"Can you hold him steady, please?" the Doctor says, and another coil of tentacle slithers over his thighs, wraps around his knees to hold him in place. The hands slip downward again. "He feels so full," his lover marvels, pressing gently against skin stretched taut and beginning to ache. "Are you sure he can take more?"

Jack whimpers and shakes his head as best he can, pinned in place as he is. He feels blown up like a balloon; he feels like a buoy, tethered and bobbing in the waves. He feels, maybe, just as one might expect to feel whilst at the mercy of a tentacle monster; lost at sea, helpless and beyond rescue.

"The pressure is still significantly below his maximum tolerance." Jack flails an arm in protest at that; _maximum tolerance_ is nowhere he wants to revisit. Nurse Shua catches it gently and rearranges it folded under his cheek. "May I make a suggestion?"

"Please do," the Doctor invites, and then makes an intrigued noise at something Jack can't see but suspects he is going to wish he had. "There isn't anything inside -? Ah."

"Only water. However, the aesthetic agreement appeals to me." The coil about Jack's cock cinches tighter, drawing a nervous whine from him.

Humming thoughtfully, the Doctor leans forward again to work at Jack's shoulders until he relaxes again, sagging into a net of tentacles that supports his chest. The movements press his cock against Jack's arse in a gentle, sliding rhythm and soon enough Jack is moaning blissfully, anxiety over the cryptic conversation forgotten. 

"You like to be filled, don't you, Jack?" the Doctor murmurs. Jack moans agreeably. The fullness in his stomach has remained constant for a number of breaths; it ebbs and flows gently, a vast ocean inside him. "You like to feel the way your body stretches around it. You like the satisfaction of taking what I give you, don't you? You know I won't give you more than you can take, even if it's more than you want. You love when I make of you a work of art like this, so beautiful, Jack, so beautiful when I take you to your limits…" 

His voice is mesmerising. Suffused with a hazy satisfaction, Jack simply breathes and awaits his lover's desire.

"Good lad," the Doctor whispers. "Shh, relax, Jack. I'm going to fill you a little more, and you're going to take it beautifully. Just like that, Jack, just relax." His hands stroke slowly up and down Jack's spine; then one comes to rest at his hip and the Doctor shifts a bit and then there is _more_. More pushing inside him, a solid infusion stretching his arse to its aching limits. The Doctor's wrenching, ecstatic moan drives all thought of protest from Jack's mind and instead he moans as well, tears welling up in his unfocused eyes. " _Jack_ ," the Doctor gasps, fingers clutching wildly although he moves inside Jack with unfailing care.

For a minute or a few there is only the pressure and the ache, the ripples reverberating around and through him and the satisfaction of taking everything his lover wishes him to take. Then the Doctor settles to a smooth, meditative rhythm that Jack feels as a deep pulse like a second heartbeat, something vast and slow holding him cherished and safe.

"Alright, Jack?" his lover asks, sounding remarkably coherent. Jack sighs and twitches a shoulder, too relaxed to consider the effort of making a noise. "Can you take a little more for me?" Jack twitches his shoulder again; the Doctor's hands slide along his skin, following his rounded contours with a reverent touch. "Go ahead, Nurse Shua."

Expecting a stretch in his stomach, Jack is surprised to feel instead a swelling in the tentacle entering his mouth. He whines as it wedges his jaws open further, but even as the Doctor begins to reassure him it passes inside, pressing his tongue down and feeling pleasantly full in his mouth.

When it begins to push into his throat, his heartrate kicks up into double time.

"Take a breath, Jack," the Doctor coaxes. "It won't take long to get down, don't worry."

Jack sucks in a breath, and then his throat is full of the thing being forced into him and he has no airway left. He tries to swallow, which hurts and doesn't help at all; he tenses and jerks and tentacles nudge him carefully back into place. The lump continues its slow journey, stretching him open here, too, and he takes it, he takes it because he has no choice at all in the matter. Silent sobs shake him and tears drip from his eyes and he tries very, very hard to relax his throat.

After a breathless eternity, the lump moves far enough down and Jack's pent-up sobs escape as a wordless shout. The panic gradually subsides as he breathes, and breathes, and cries, and the lump continues sliding slowly down his protesting esophagus.

The Doctor's hand is on his throat; the slow pulse in his arse still holds him close. "Brave lad," the Doctor praises. "You took that so well for me, Jack, just like I knew you would. The way you struggle to do what I ask is amazing, the way you push yourself so far just to please me…" His hand strokes briefly, then slides over Jack's shoulder, light fingertips down his spine. "Nurse Shua, would you like to feel…?"

"Thank you," Nurse Shua says. A tentacle slithers around Jack's neck to replace the Doctor's hand and just as he thinks to wonder what there is to feel, another swell begins forcing his jaw open. The tentacle ringing his cock begins moving with more intent, and Jack sobs again as he understands; then he takes a breath and submits. 

Not just filled to his limits; not just stuffed in every hole; but forced full of hard lumps in every place he can take them, in reflection of the precious eggs laced through his guts that his partners are both so fascinated by. 

Jack understands aesthetics. He is being made into a work of art.

The increase inside is no longer a steady thing; instead each bulge slides down and meets no relief, only adding its pain to the total in discrete increments, ratcheting ever higher. Jack groans and whimpers and sometimes becomes so distracted by the other touches he is subject to that he forgets to take a breath before his throat closes again, and then thrashes in a suffocated silence that makes the Doctor moan gloriously even as he attempts to reassure. Nothing Jack does changes his situation, and soon enough he is reduced to limp acceptance, a container purpose-made to be enjoyed to its limits. Finally one of the lumps stops in his mouth, both comfortable fullness and threat.

"Doctor?" Nurse Shua inquires. Jack blinks slowly, dazed and drifting. "More is possible, but perhaps unnecessary."

"Yes," the Doctor agrees, hands slipping down Jack's sides again. "Oh, Jack… you are amazing, you know." He presses gently and Jack's eyes fall closed again, overwhelmed by all he holds inside. "So good," he whispers. "So beautiful."

Jack rests.

The movement of the Doctor's hips kicks up little ripples in the bath that wash across the skin of his back; tentacles slide and curl over him, pulse gently inside him; pressure laps at his borders in unceasing waves but does not overcome them.

He is good, and contains it all.

Dimly, he hears Nurse Shua's voice. "He is no longer fully hard, Doctor. Shall I remove the sound?"

"Yes, please," the Doctor says, voice strained. His hands are locked on Jack's hips. "Gently."

As gentle as it is, the shock of feeling movement _inside_ his cock is still enough to pull Jack from his comfortable haze. He whimpers, and wriggles, and succeeds only in pushing the sound back up into him. Tentacles tighten around him and Nurse Shua tugs gently at it again and Jack moans in desperation as the friction reignites his forgotten need.

"Whatever you're doing," the Doctor orders, with a desperate moan of his own, "do more of it!"

Without letting Jack move at all, Nurse Shua teases the sound out further as he whines and shudders. The confining coils tighten as his cock stiffens to full attention again, stroking and squeezing with merciless skill. The last bump slips out and Jack gasps, tries unsuccessfully to thrust into the shifting sleeve - then hard metal presses back into him, accompanied by a fresh wash of lubrication, and Jack wails as it sinks home with a terrible ease. The Doctor's rhythm finally breaks, hips crashing against Jack's at a pace that throws his overstuffed insides into chaos. The sound begins sliding outward again, each bump clearly defined against the tentacle that wraps around him, drawing Jack's orgasm out of him as it goes. He comes jerking helplessly in his bonds, crying strange sharp noises on each exhale.

The Doctor groans and slumps slowly over to rest his arms and forehead on Jack's back. "Captain," he mumbles. "My Captain."

Jack whimpers as his cock is freed, inside and out, and left to drift in the warm water. Even the gentle currents are more stimulation than he wants right now. The Doctor shifts and slips out of him with another quiet groan and although his throat is still full and his belly is hugely stuffed, the little bit of relief is enough to send Jack tumbling away into mindlessness.

"Yes," his lover says, far distant now. "There you are, Jack, go ahead and sleep now, you've done so well…" Warm and safe and loved, Jack rests.


	16. Turnabout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets a little of his own back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: consensual somnophilia, sounding, breath restriction, tentacles as restraints, tentacles in general.

Jack wakes to the sound of high, broken whimpers that seem to follow him out of his dreams and a confusing cacophony of sensation that he can't immediately integrate with his sense of self. The immense mass lodged in his abdominal cavity occupies most of his attention at first, the stretch and fullness of it still not _expected_ even if he does remember it going in - he definitely remembers it going in. He remembers a _lot_ of things going in. And coming out. But the way it turns his guts into a solid mass inside him, all the way down to his arse kept so full it can't quite close, is still fantastically strange.

When he tries to shift to feel it all better, he discovers a number of other things very quickly. He can't move; laid on his left side this time, Nurse Shua cradles him in a gentle grip that nonetheless has him effectively immobilised. His cock is throbbing, and the whimpers seem to be coming from his own raw throat because he can feel the vibrations, and when he opens his eyes he can see the Doctor's legs stretched out in front of him on the bed he only dimly recalls being returned to -

His legs?

Jack whimpers again, and then his brain finally catches up to his body and he can feel the slow slide of hard metal inside his cock, held tight in his lover's cool grip. "Doc," he protests weakly, wrestling away the pillow wedged between his arms to see the Doctor propped up on an elbow, half-dressed in only shirt and pants, examining areas of Jack's body he hasn't seen in days.

"Oh, hello," the mad Time Lord says, quite as if he were doing anything at all _sensible_. "Proper knackered, you were."

Jack squints at him in consternation. "You couldn't just read a book?"

The Doctor gives him a wounded look. "I read three. And had lunch, and several lovely conversations, and fixed the drip feeders in the hydroponics system -"

Mildly concerned, Jack interrupts, "Were they broken?"

"Not… as such," the Doctor says, looking away shiftily. "But -"

" _Doctor_." Instead of arguing, the Doctor tugs gently on the sound impaling Jack and another helpless whimper rises in his throat.

"Yes," the Doctor says, "more of that, please." His voice is all loving approval and if it weren't for the lingering indignation at waking up to find himself being _probed by an alien_ maybe Jack would have given in without a fight.

"You can't just let him roam free, Nurse Shua," he complains instead. "He's a menace." He whimpers again, tries to kick without success. "Why are you helping him?"

"To stop him roaming free," Nurse Shua replies pragmatically.

Jack barks a startled laugh - which is echoed by a faint snort from the Doctor's direction - then moans as tentacles coil around his feet and begin a very competent massage. "Throw yourself on that grenade, Captain," he mutters, but perhaps waking up like this is just another of the perils to be expected from getting himself in such an outwardly boring condition with a hyperactive Time Lord in attendance. 

The Doctor, at least, seems to be mellowed by his excursion; he just rolls his eyes and teases the sound outward again. "Why don't you tell me how it feels."

"It feels like you're shoving a stick up my dick, because you are! What the hell kind of wake up call -" He breaks off into another whimper as it slips back in, deeper, and the Doctor smiles. "Like you're trying to turn me into some kind of carnival food."

"I suppose if I were inclined toward eating humans you might look particularly delectable at the moment," the Doctor agrees, rather more doubtfully than Jack can find flattering.

"I am _always_ delectable, why don't you - _unh_ -" Jack grunts as the rod slides home, a smooth, heavy length that stretches his cock around it without any of the interest of the earlier beaded one. The curved end of it presses against his skin; the Doctor's thumb rubs along the join absently, slips down the too-firm length of him. Back arching, Jack bites back a sob. He can't _relax_ into this stretch, he can't do anything about it at all but endure until his flesh slowly adjusts to accommodate the intrusion. He feels like he needs a piss and he can't tell if it's true, or if it's just his body's interpretation of the fullness.

The Doctor's shorts aren't doing anything to hide the fact he's thoroughly enjoying tormenting Jack. " _Why don't I_ \- indeed," he muses, brows raising quizzically. He shoots a glance too quick to read at Jack, then ducks his head.

"Wh- ah!- _ff_ -" Jack stutters as cool lips close over the head of his cock. "Doc!" He bucks violently before regaining control of himself; Nurse Shua absorbs most of the movement but the strain on the stretched muscles of his abdomen is still painful.

"Hmm mmm," the Doctor admonishes, sliding a hand soothingly over the taut curve of Jack's belly; it feels packed solid just now, hard and heavy inside him. The Doctor's tongue sneaks underneath the end of the sound to probe at his stretched slit and Jack spasms at the sharp pleasure that jolts through him, moaning helplessly.

When the Doctor abruptly switches to suction, Jack nearly whites out.

Heels scrabbling spastically against nothing, he pants and shudders and cries out as yet more blood rushes to his cock, as the sound rocks back and forth inside him with the movement of the Doctor's mouth, as the tip of that wicked tongue takes advantage of nerve endings far too invested in what's going on.

The Doctor hums in an inquiring way.

"Good!" Jack gasps. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop -" He's so close, just a little more -! The next hum sounds oddly sceptical, but the Doctor loops his arm over Jack's hip and cool fingertips slip along the crease of his arse to tease at his gaping rim. Nearly sobbing, Jack rocks forward, right hand spread instinctively over his midsection as if that could help calm the queasiness of movement. The fingers push inside, sliding, rubbing, moving the plug deep inside him in a riveting accompaniment to the magic the Doctor is working with his mouth. "Yes, yesyes _yes_ -"

Jack waits for the building tension to snap into release, but it doesn't; it goes so far, and no further, no matter how he writhes and curses and strains for it.

"Please, fuck, Doc, God, _aaah_ \- gonna kill me, _please_ -" He is babbling senselessly by the time the Doctor gently lets up on the suction and pulls away.

"Well, we wouldn't want _that_ ," the Time Lord says, without further commentary. "I thought that might not work. Shh, shh, you're alright, Jack. Entirely delectable." He pets and murmurs reassurances and nuzzles into Jack's belly as Jack gasps his way back to lucidity, clutching the pillow between his arms tight. "You make the most delightful noises, really. And the way you _squirm_. Thank you for holding him still, Nurse Shua, I can't imagine what he'd be doing to himself if you weren't."

"To _myself_ -?" Jack protests incredulously. "I'd still be _asleep_ , left to myself!"

"Amazing, the things you'll complain about," the Doctor says fondly. He kisses Jack's belly again before levering himself back up onto his elbow and turning his attention back to his work. "It doesn't hurt, does it? This is the same diametre as the bumpy one earlier."

Sighing, Jack tries to shift his hips and shoulders slightly to a more comfortable angle for his belly. With no delicate operations going on, Nurse Shua provides helpful leverage as soon as it realises what he is doing and Jack licks the tentacle coiled beside his mouth in thanks. The moisture it secretes is soothing in his dry throat. "No, it doesn't hurt. Just feels very, very full. Think I need a piss, though." Even if he is slightly worried about what the Doctor might do with that information.

"Best try it now, then," his lover suggests, which is both a relief and somewhat ominous.

It is a distinctly odd sensation, the pressure in his constricted bladder easing without being able to feel the urine exiting his body - but it becomes immensely more odd when the Doctor's fingers slip under the top of the sound and _pull_. 

Some strange noise erupts from Jack's throat, somewhere between a yell of surprise and a groan of relief, as the rod seems to flow smoothly out of him as well, taking the aching stretch with it and leaving behind the fleeting burn of adjusting tissue. Again the Doctor's timing leaves Jack with the impression of a singular event, as if the fullness in his bladder and the fullness in his cock had been all of a piece, forced into Jack at his lover's will and drawn back out of him with the same lack of control. Savouring the sensations spiking through his nerves, Jack twitches and moans appreciatively. "Fuck…"

"Good?"

"I think… yeah, weird, but good," Jack agrees, opening his eyes just enough to be amused by the smug pleasure on his lover's face. "Gods help me, I've created a monster."

The smile the Doctor turns on him is wry and indulgent. "If you have, it's only by long effort." Jack smiles back, then closes his eyes and relaxes. His lover's hand is gentle as it skims over the strange curves that distort Jack's body, the ceaseless motion of Nurse Shua's tentacles soothing like the wash of waves. He licks the one near his mouth and smiles when it curls around his ear.

"Let me see that again, please, Nurse Shua," the Doctor says, and then, "Good. Yes, let's start on the next," and before Jack can decide whether he needs to be worried about whatever it is, another wash of lubrication fills his cock and a new sound is being pushed inside - being worked in slowly, because it is bigger _yet again_ -

"Less good," Jack whines, as the rounded head of it breaches his cock. It feels huge.

"Shh, be brave for me, Captain," the Doctor soothes, but Jack seems to have used up his quota of easy submission for the day. 

"Do you have some kind of _goal_ here? Are you -" The whimpering is back. "Are you back to seeing how much I can take, is this -"

"This is as big as we're going," the Doctor says reassuringly, keeping up a light, constant pressure that forces the sound slowly deeper. "It's not so much more, Jack, you can take this for me. You've done so well today." 

Vaguely appeased by the praise but still feeling sulky, Jack bites his pillow to muffle the whimpers he can't silence. The stretch is fierce and he squirms in Nurse Shua's careful grip, or tries to, as he is slowly stuffed to his limits here too. There is a very real pleasure in it, the smooth glide of slow penetration, the way it adds to the heavy fullness already coiling through him, the feeling of his body giving way and accepting what the Doctor wants him to take.

"Is that good, Jack?" his lover murmurs. "You're doing so well. My beautiful Captain."

But he's not about to admit it.

Eyes drawn to shorts that hide very little as the Doctor shifts about, Jack is struck with the sudden realisation that he could have something much more fun than a pillow in his mouth. He tosses the pillow away and reaches out. "C'm'ere," he grunts, trying to hook a hand around the Doctor's knee and tug him forward. "Need distraction." But his effort is doomed in his current condition, so instead he twists his fingers into the hem of the taunting shorts and begs, "Help me out here, Nurse Shua."

A welcome tentacle coils down his arm to support its outstretched weight. "Doctor? May I assist Jack in obtaining better access to you?"

"Whatever helps," the Doctor agrees absently. "Within reasonable bounds, of course. I'm not -"

Whatever Jack had been expecting as a result of his request, reality has it all beat.

The Doctor jerks and chokes on a startled yelp as a tentacle slithers up the back of his thigh. With a bit of effort the tip of it works under the hem of the shorts Jack has pulled taut and then disappears underneath, squirming lewdly beneath the fabric as the yelp turns into a moan. Jack watches in delighted fascination, taking in the lack of protest with as much interest as the actual goings-on.

What _have_ they been getting up to whilst he sleeps?

Settling his arm comfortably atop his chest, Nurse Shua lets go with a distracted sort of caress - and then that tentacle is joined by another, reaching for the Doctor, wrapping around his hips and lifting him closer to Jack, slipping beneath the waistband of his shorts -!

"Careful!" the Doctor squeaks. The sound jerks deeper before he lets go, and maybe Jack would have cared a minute ago, but this distraction is _quality_. Nurse Shua pauses, but takes the opportunity to tug the shorts downward teasingly, leaving little trails of wetness on his skin. Another tentacle sneaks up under his shirt, which Jack can't even think of a believable excuse for. "I'm not sure that's what he meant!" the discombobulated Time Lord protests, but he should have known better.

"Oh, no, this is perfect," Jack assures everyone gleefully. The Doctor squirms as the tentacles push deeper into his shorts. Jack can't see what the first one is doing anymore. "Couldn't have done better myself. What's going on in there, anyway?"

"Nothing," the Doctor denies, entirely unconvincingly. He also moans.

"Are you sure?"

"I _was_ sure, very recently."

Despite being able to see quite clearly that the only thing going on in the _front_ of his shorts is his cock's determined effort to escape them, Jack is fairly certain he isn't getting the entire picture. There's all the squirming, for one; and that first tentacle that slipped up under the hem in back hasn't been still for a moment.

"Will you need this clothing removed, Jack?" Nurse Shua inquires.

Jack can feel his grin stretching impossibly wider. Obviously he has been a very, _very_ good boy, and this is how the Doctor has chosen to let him know. Or whatever, he isn't picky on the interpretation. "Yeah, get those pants off him," he agrees, shamelessly taking advantage of the nurse's enthusiasm. "Then you can put him right up here."

" _Captain_ ," the Doctor protests half-heartedly; but there is a sudden damp spot where the head of his cock strains against thin fabric.

"You aren't actually _complaining_ at a time like this, are you?" Jack scoffs, reaching for his lover again impatiently. The Doctor makes an indignant noise and the terrible rod in Jack's cock slips outward and then back in to stretch him a little deeper in retaliation. Reminded of his original purpose, he whines, "Come _on_."

"Oh, very well," the Doctor sighs, when it becomes obvious Nurse Shua is waiting for explicit consent. "Go ahead."

Almost before he finishes, Nurse Shua is lifting him again, twisting here, tugging there - manoeuvring the waistband carefully over his cock, then the shorts are down his legs and whisked away. Jack catches a glimpse of a tentacle nestled snugly along the crease of his arse before it takes the shorts, which certainly explains the squirming - Jack wouldn't say _no_ to that application himself, at the moment -

Then his lover's cock is bumping gently at his lips and Jack's attention is thoroughly captured. He opens his mouth, lets his head be tilted back, and closes his eyes with a blissful moan as Nurse Shua slots them together at the perfect angle for the curve of it to slip, thick and gloriously firm, straight down his throat.

The Doctor cries out, a full-throated yell muffled like he is biting the mattress; his fist thumps hard into the bed, once, and Jack can feel the muscles in his legs tightening against his forehead but Nurse Shua keeps him from having to absorb any of that force. Wiry hair tickles Jack's cheeks and his nose is buried against soft skin but he can't breathe anyway, for the moment, so he nuzzles gently and slides a hand over the Doctor's flank, now very much in reach.

After a moment his lover relaxes from his reflexive curl and pulls away enough for the rest of Jack's moan to make its way out. He takes a breath and then bobs his head forward again, lips soft to caress spit-slick skin.

" _Captain_ ," the Doctor moans, no longer muffled. 

"Hm?"

“Your distraction is very distracting.”

“Hmmmm,” Jack agrees unrepentantly, flexing his tongue against the familiar taste of his lover’s cock, presented upside down to the direction he most often encounters it. His position isn’t one that gives him much control over the proceedings, but he doesn’t need that; he needs to touch and feel, he needs to smell and taste the Doctor’s enjoyment of him. He needs to provide pleasure, and it’s a very good position for that. Sucking lightly, Jack tucks his left hand between mattress and cool skin, moves his right up a little further to the curve of the Doctor’s arse to press him forward encouragingly.

He lets Jack move him; an arm drapes heavy over Jack’s belly and he can feel the Doctor’s hair against his skin as he moans. “Unfair,” the Time Lord accuses, sounding muffled again.

“Mm-mm,” Jack argues. It’s not as though he’s expecting respite. Just distraction. The arm on his belly presses a little harder and Jack groans.

“Well,” the Doctor says a bit breathlessly, rocking his hips forward enough to fill Jack’s throat again, “alright then.”

He shifts again, and then instead of the sound pushing deeper as Jack was expecting, it begins sliding _out_. Jack thrashes at the bizarre pulling sensation, and Nurse Shua holds him still; his abdominal muscles tighten in ineffectual waves as he tries to cry out, but he is completely silenced. Reflexively trying to pull his head back, Jack finds he can't move that way either, the support Nurse Shua is providing against potential thrusts not letting him escape. So instead he leans forward, folds his arm over the lean muscles of the Doctor’s waist to keep him close, and concentrates on the feel of his lover’s cock lodged deep inside. The burning stretch in his cock comes tantalisingly close to exiting before it reverses and pushes back in, transformed by motion into a pleasure intense enough to wash away the dregs of Jack’s uncooperative mood.

The Doctor’s hips pull back and Jack moans. “Alright, Jack?”

“Mmm,” he says noncommittally. No reason to give the smug bastard more ammunition.

“Good,” his obnoxiously telepathic lover says anyway. The sound continues pushing in; the Doctor rocks his hips gently, moving in Jack’s mouth without obstructing his breath. Jack sighs and relaxes, just a warm, welcoming hole that needs filling, for now. “I admit I’m quite enjoying… being the one to fill you up, this time. Not that it isn’t a joy watching you, Nurse Shua. But seeing how much he can take… It’s reassuring to know I can provide at least some parts of _enough_ , myself.”

Squeezing his arse, Jack hums appreciatively. The insecurity is unnecessary, if understandable, Jack supposes; it isn’t as though he has any desire to be anything like this full most of the time. But they do tend to come to each other with needs they can’t meet elsewhere.

“I remember you said, Captain,” the Doctor assures him quietly. “But I still like it.” He pushes forward a little more, the head of his cock forcing Jack’s throat open around it again, as if to prove how well he does fill Jack there. He pushes the sound deeper at the same time, working it gently in until it is as deep as it can go, and Jack endures the double invasion, silent and willing. His cheek rests in a growing puddle of drool.

When the Doctor pulls back the sound stays, buried deep in Jack’s throbbing cock. He whimpers helplessly as cool fingers explore with deliberate care, squeezing and stroking and pressing sensitive flesh against the metal intrusion. For lack of any other outlet he rocks his hips back and forth, straining against Nurse Shua's grip on his thighs. Like earlier, orgasm feels like it is hovering just out of reach. 

“It certainly makes you fun to play with,” the Doctor says, voice insultingly unaffected considering where _his_ cock is. Jack sucks hard, rolls his tongue against smooth skin, and is rewarded with a fresh burst of salty slick and a voice gone notably breathier when it offers, “Would you like to feel, Nurse Shua?”

“Very much,” the nurse agrees.

“Mm!” Jack protests, not yet docile even if he can feel that state not so far off. “Aagh!” The Doctor’s hand is bad enough, he knows what those tentacles can do -! But the Doctor just shoves his cock down Jack’s throat again and he can hardly protest _that_ when he practically insisted upon it, can he? What a brilliant way to lose an argument.

Still, he would have screamed if he could, when the tentacle winds around him and _squeezes_ with that offset ripple that makes it so different from a hand.

He wants to come, very, very badly.

Jack’s fingers scrabble at the Doctor’s back until his hand lands on an unexpected tentacle; it curls over him immediately, pulsing slowly in his palm, and he remembers the Doctor squirming so delightfully earlier. Why should Jack get all the fun? He lifts his hand, and the tentacle comes along easily. Jack has to fight the grin trying to take over his face - it makes it hard to use his lips properly - but he manages to get the tentacle set just where he wants it -

The Doctor yowls and slams forward into Jack’s face in startled reaction as what feels like a giant tongue takes a swipe at his arse, if Jack’s previous experience is any guide. “What - _Captain_ -!” But he rolls back into better contact with it even as he complains. “Get his hand, will you, Nurse Shua? He’s only causing trouble with it -” The Doctor’s hips jerk unexpectedly backwards and Jack sees the tentacle he has just coaxed into place lifting away. “No - no, you can leave that one, I didn’t say it was a _bad_ idea -”

Jack laughs as his right hand is lifted away and restrained, as the Doctor moans like a wet dream and writhes against him, as the movement on his cock crackles through his nerves until he loses the plot completely and all he can think of is the cool, familiar length slipping smooth through his lips, thick and heavy in his mouth - and he knows _exactly_ what to do with that -

The Doctor’s breath is harsh and quick, the head of his cock bumping the back of Jack’s throat with a force born of deferred need. Jack sucks until he hears that whimper he loves, until the Doctor’s motion turns jerky; then he lets go the suction and opens his throat and takes the next thrust as deep as it will go. The Doctor shouts like he just discovered a cliff by stepping off it as he falls forward into Jack. He jerks wildly, then presses his face to Jack’s belly, moaning as he shakes apart.

After a moment he pushes himself away and flops limply to his back. Jack swallows gingerly, then takes Nurse Shua up on its offer of water.

“Well, Captain, you’ve had your fun.” Jack blinks and looks away from the eye-catching glimpse of brownish-purple tentacle peeking from the Doctor’s shirt to find his lover curling upward to watch him with an unreadable look. He tries a disarming smile but the Doctor just quirks a brow at him. “Shall I show you something? Put that overactive imagination to good use?”

“Sure,” Jack agrees, very willing to see more interesting things.

The Doctor reaches toward him and then Jack is gasping like a drowning fish, wide-eyed as the rod in his cock is drawn out without prelude or pause, turning him inside out, leaving him empty and shaking. Holding it up lazily for Jack to see, the Time Lord smirks. “This is what was in you.”

“Wow,” Jack forces out obediently, appreciative of his lover’s effort and mildly terrified at the state he will find his cock in once he can see it again.

“Yes, it is a big one,” the Doctor says, which he seems to find amusing. “Please show him now, Nurse Shua.”

Show him _what_ , he is already busily imagining -

Mind wiped blank, Jack stares at the thin tentacle waving gently next to the Doctor's hand. The tentacle which is, if anything, slightly _narrower_ than the sound.

The implication is obvious, and Jack abruptly finds himself imagining again.


	17. Appreciation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor's plans come together, and Jack is appreciated and enjoyed to the limits of body and mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: heavy dom/sub, tentacles everywhere, sounding and emetophilia but with tentacles, restraint, stuffing, pain, begging, consent play, dissociation, subspace. For all that, most of it is pretty soft.
> 
> Happy Solstice, dear readers! May the new year bring us all good things.

“Is he well?” Nurse Shua asks. Jack realises he is panting, an eager keening noise rising in his throat.

The Doctor chuckles. “He’s fine. That imagination of his.” His hand twists absently as the thin tentacle coils among his fingers and Jack can’t take his eyes off the mesmerising display. This is what he has been working toward, then. For all the talk of wanting to fill Jack himself, he is clearly telling the truth about enjoying watching Nurse Shua as well. The first time that tentacle, or one very like it, had tried Jack’s cock it had felt enormous. Now that squirming, pulsing smoothness will press in, and in, and _in_ , just as first his arse and then his throat had been taken over and filled -

And yet, somehow, there are no tentacles at all inside him _right now_.

“Are you waiting for an _invitation?_ ” Jack demands. Nobody is doing _anything_ with him right now, he’s just _stuck_ , spread out like a specimen for his lovers’ viewing pleasure, teased and tormented and prevented from coming, stuffed to bursting and unacceptably empty where it matters most -

“I shouldn’t think I’d be inclined to accept it, if it were as rude as you’ve been recently, Captain,” the Doctor says, lips pursed in that look he gets when trying not to show his amusement.

Switching tacks immediately, Jack gives his lover a charming smile. “Who’s rude? Just trying to show my appreciation.” He cranes his head around, trying to find somewhere else to aim his smile. “Let me show you some appreciation too, Nurse Shua, you’re doing all the hard work here.”

“Oi,” the Doctor objects, without any real heat.

Nurse Shua rearranges Jack into a less splayed-out position, with significantly more freedom of movement. A tentacle burrows under his arm again and Jack squeezes tight in what he is coming to think of as a strange kind of hug. “I feel very appreciated,” the nurse assures him, winding another thin tentacle carefully through his hair. Jack shudders and pushes his head into the massage, hungry for new sensation.

“Please,” Jack tries, finally. The Doctor’s lips twitch and he leans forward to hide his face against the enormous swell of Jack’s belly, nuzzling and nibbling at the taut skin. Hopeful now, Jack redoubles his efforts. “Please, I want you to fill me up, or fuck me, or whatever it is you want to do. Turn me into artwork again.” He cards his fingers through dark, wild hair. “Come on, Doc, I’m feeling left out, here.”

Turning his face to rub a recently clean-shaven cheek across Jack’s skin, the Doctor laughs. “Funny thing for someone in your position to be feeling,” he opines. “When we’re paying attention to nothing at all but you…” He trails off, and doesn’t raise his head.

“Are _you_ alright?” Jack thinks to ask, playfulness abruptly derailed by concern. The Doctor had let him have his fun, but had it been more in relief than indulgence? “Has it been too much, do you -”

“I’m alright,” the Time Lord says, bumping his head into Jack’s hand to encourage more petting. Jack obliges, and waits. “I don’t seem to have it in me to… to force you, right now. Whatever you like, we’ll keep doing it, but I need…” When he looks up his eyes seem to swallow Jack down whole. “Will you be good for me, Captain?”

Can Jack submit without a fight now, he means. Has he had enough of pushing back; can he trust that the Doctor will take care of him, even if it sometimes is in a different way than Jack would choose?

Unable to tear his eyes from his lover, Jack nods jerkily, then more enthusiastically. “I’ll be good,” he promises. “I’ll be so good! Please, Doctor. Whatever you’ve thought of, I want it.”

The Doctor smiles at him, something deeper than satisfaction softening his features for a moment. “Good,” he says quietly, and shifts so he can lean over Jack and bury him under a kiss that slowly saps away words, and then volition, and then conscious thought at all. When he pulls away Jack stares up at him, already drifting into the soft receptiveness of submission. “Nurse Shua has kindly agreed to collaborate again with my efforts to find out just how stuffed you can be. I don’t need your silence, Captain; I don’t imagine you’ll find it possible, in any case.” A nervous thrill shudders through Jack at that, disturbing his already thoroughly stuffed guts. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jack breathes without hesitation, and is rewarded with another glowing smile.

“Nurse Shua? Go ahead, please.”

The tentacles ringing his thighs pulse and shift over sensitive skin, fold his legs up a bit and spread them slightly wider; Jack tenses at the increased feeling of vulnerability and whines at the feel of the plug shifting against his hole. “Please try to relax, Jack,” Nurse Shua says, and Jack tries very, very hard, even though he can see the anticipation on the Doctor’s face, even though he can feel a brush of movement against the skin of his arse - even though the slick, blunt tip of the thing coming for him is stroking, circling, teasing at the neglected skin of his rim -

“Please,” Jack begs, trying to relax but _needing_ more, “please, I’m ready, please -”

The Doctor laces his fingers with Jack’s, pinning his left hand where it lies on the bed, and leans down to kiss his forehead. “You can’t be in control now,” he reminds. Jack reaches to catch his wrist with his right hand too, just for something to hold on to. “Beg all you like, but we’re not looking for your input.”

Each of Jack’s quick breaths squeezes his overfilled midsection, a visceral preview of what he will soon be subject to; he can’t distinguish the eggs shifting from the rest of it anymore and he wishes he _could_ , could have that strangeness to focus on to distract him from the anticipation. The tentacle is rubbing against him now, the tip of it pressing inside the open ring of his hole to stretch him open wider, and the Doctor is watching him with eyes like the deep dark, drinking in every reaction, and Jack can feel his face heat. 

“We’re going to _enjoy_ you, Captain,” the Doctor says, voice pitched low and smooth to carry Jack away. “We’re going to fill you up, and use you, and stretch you to your limits, in whatever way pleases us best. Pleasing you is entirely beside the point.” He leans down to kiss Jack again, and if the way in which it pleases him to kiss his captive is precisely the way which makes that captive melt into a moaning, thoughtless puddle - well, who’s counting? “Do you understand, Captain?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jack says, even if he is a bit fuzzy on the details just now.

He understands that where he has no control, he can make no wrong choices.

He understands that whatever happens, he will be pleasing the Doctor.

He understands that he is wanted, and he understands that he is loved.

“Good lad,” his Time Lord says, and draws his knuckles from Jack’s collarbone to the soft spot below his chin where he strokes just softly, thumb teasing at Jack’s bottom lip; and he _watches_.

So Jack begs again, without expectation, because the friction of the tentacle over touch-hungry skin is building in his nerves like static charge and the Doctor was right about silence. “Please fill me, I’ll be so good for you, please let me -” He tries to squirm, tries to press himself down onto the unsatisfactory touches, but he can’t move and he sobs in frustration. “Please, I can’t take any more -”

The Doctor’s brows rise precipitously. “What do you imagine your options to be?”

“ _Please,_ ” Jack cries, but he was wrong. He takes it, and he keeps taking it, secure in the knowledge that whatever reactions are forced from him, they are the ones his lovers intend; and when the tentacle finally pushes inside his plug there is nothing _optional_ about it, either. It fills him in a series of slow, unstoppable waves, forcing him open, shifting things inside as his body is made to hold yet more. Jack groans and holds tight to the Doctor as the fullness increases inexorably until finally there is only stillness inside him and he simply breathes shallowly, moaning quietly on each exhale. Nurse Shua holds him tight and steady, which he appreciates because the cramping ache inside him goes much deeper than the Doctor’s cock can reach and he doesn’t want to try moving just yet.

“Alright, Jack?” his lover asks, hand sweeping slowly over his distended middle. Mustering the breath support or coordination to attempt speech seems impossibly difficult just yet, so Jack just squeezes his wrist. “Do you feel very much more full? It doesn’t feel so from the outside.” Jack aims an exaggerated frown at his lover, who laughs. “Yes, well, I suppose it’s all incremental anyway.”

Unsatisfied with pantomime, Jack makes a concerted effort to insist, “ _Very_ full.”

Carefully freeing his hand from Jack’s, the Doctor kisses him briefly, then kneels up to better position himself to fondle Jack’s belly. He presses gently, and sometimes again, less gently, when he likes Jack’s reaction; he slides his hands firm and slow in short arcs, searching for other reactions, and soon has found the one that leaves Jack gasping and grunting when the pressure meets the fullness in his arse. To Jack’s intense dismay, the tentacle inside him _pushes back_.

“Oh, I did feel that, just a little bit,” the Doctor says, face lighting with quiet delight. “How fascinating. I suppose you can feel all this perfectly well, Nurse Shua.”

“Certainly,” the nurse replies. “Your movements are sufficiently methodical to allow me to feel each egg clearly.” The Doctor looks _charmed_ , as if that were some sort of esoteric alien compliment.

Reduced to the medium through which his lovers are flirting, Jack complains, “ _I_ can feel it _really_ well.”

“I should hope so, you were rather desperate for it not very long ago.” Jack subsides at the reminder, somewhat grudgingly. The Doctor smiles indulgently at him. “You do look remarkable like this, Captain. Should see yourself -” Suddenly he launches himself off the bed, looking very pleased about something. “You _should_ see yourself! Hang on a tic.”

Jack, perforce, hangs on. “You could fuck me,” he suggests to Nurse Shua. “You’ve got a good start on it.”

“That motion is not a natural one for my limbs,” the nurse says, which Jack might have mistaken for a dry recitation of facts were it not for the tentacle slipping smoothly back and forth along the crease between thigh and groin, pressing behind his balls with a delicate touch that just makes him want more.

Jack groans, and tries flexing his hips slightly, and groans again. “Tease.” At least this he can try to relax into. It _feels_ helpful, even if only by contrast. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, Jack.” More tentacles curl over his belly, following the curve of it like lashes of water down a windshield; his contents shift almost imperceptibly inside him in the gentle currents of pressure. “Both assisting with and participating in your activities are pleasurable for me.”

A strangled noise comes from the Doctor, and Jack looks up from the living net covering his stuffed abdomen to see his lover staring at him with hungry eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. He has retrieved the display and set it where Jack can see it; he has the camera in hand. In any number of other situations Jack would laugh at him standing there in just his shirt, but not like this, not the way he is eating Jack up with his gaze. Swallowing thickly as a thrill runs down his spine, Jack stares back, reminded suddenly of how very helpless he is, here. His escape attempt had been a game, but the effort was real - and the failure. His body is not his own.

“Look at yourself, Jack,” the Doctor insists quietly, raising the camera; so Jack does.

It takes a moment to sort out the human-shaped body beneath what must surely be _all_ of Nurse Shua’s tentacles coiled around him, obscuring the outline of limbs his brain is looking for as signposts. In fact its body appears to be settled on the mattress just behind Jack as well, so perhaps it really is an entire tentacle monster he is covered in -

The tentacles shift, and if Jack hadn’t already been certain Nurse Shua had a sense for visual aesthetics as well as tactile ones he would be certain now, because the composition is no longer a confusing medley of brown-purple flesh over pink but a study in delicate curves with his own inflated belly as the central focus.

The Doctor’s breath whuffs out like someone punched him; but he holds the camera steady.

Struggling to tilt his head closer to a normal orientation, Jack stares at the screen. The swell of it is delightfully obscene, huge and round and pale, like some exotic fruit grown ripe and heavy nestled in its wreath of protective vines. The tentacles shift again, and through some magic of pattern matching Jack suddenly sees himself quite clearly, his body now the focus - and if he had thought his belly done up artistically was obscene, it’s got nothing on himself done up as a captive incubator, stuffed and straining at the seams with alien eggs and goo.

“ _Captain_ ,” the Doctor moans. He sets the camera on its stand somewhat haphazardly and crawls onto the bed, which gives Jack a really _nice_ view of his arse - he is biting the taut skin of Jack’s belly, not hard but very deliberately. Jack twitches and squirms at the not-quite-ticklish sensation.

“Ow! Hey! Cut it out -” He tries vaguely to push the Doctor’s head away, but at least half his attention is still on the display where he is watching a tentacle curl aimlessly over the back of the Doctor’s thigh and up the curve of his arse, to no reaction whatsoever that Jack can tell.

“No,” the Doctor says, and nips a little harder. “Be good for me now, Jack.”

“I -” Jack wrenches his eyes away from the show, back to his lover who needs his full attention. “Yes, Doctor.”

The bites continue up Jack’s torso, worrying at a nipple until he whines, sucking a bruise into his skin at his collarbone, and Jack contents himself with slipping a hand around the back of the Doctor’s other thigh, just for symmetry. The faint jump of muscle under his palm suggests that _no reaction_ isn’t quite correct, at least. Nurse Shua slides a thick tentacle across his other palm in pointed offer. The tip of it continues in a spiral up his forearm, rooting him in place, and Jack swallows nervously and holds on. But all he feels next is a gradual lessening of the pressure inside; without being able to feel any friction it takes him a little while to realise the tentacle is pulling out of him. Jack whines in disappointment but remembers in time not to argue. He _is_ good, he is _good_ , he will be _so_ good.

“So good,” the Doctor agrees; then his tongue nudges at Jack’s mouth, licks gently inside, and his lips seal to Jack’s to silence him until the relief overcomes the disappointment and Jack lies still, moaning softly as overstretched tissues relax back to the configuration they have grown used to. 

“Your Jack is a very appealing nest,” Nurse Shua says, absently curling and uncurling tentacles across Jack’s skin in sweeping caresses. One slips into his mouth after the Doctor pulls away and Jack sucks obediently, swallows the mouthful of smooth sweetness he gets with an eager moan. Nurse Shua lets him have a second mouthful then slithers away, leaving a trail of it over his jaw and down his neck.

The Doctor grins and sits up. “It’s practically his motto. In every endeavour, let us at least be appealing.”

Jack considers objecting but there really isn’t much to object to.

Without warning, a tentacle tip flickers against his hole, stroking lightly, and Jack startles. “Please,” he begs immediately, squirming at the ticklish sensation. “Please let me, whatever you want, please let me do it.” Another curls against his balls, and another spirals around his quickly hardening cock, and all in all he is not surprised when a fourth slips inside his foreskin and begins prodding at his stretched slit - which isn’t to say he has no reaction. He whimpers and bucks, and then the Doctor’s hands are on his belly again, stroking soothingly against the pain of muscles he can’t help continually overstraining.

He _is_ surprised when he feels something pushing into his arse again, but he has very little time to think about it because the tip of the thin tentacle squirming against his cock also pushes carefully inside him and Jack moans, twisting helplessly as he is invaded in two holes at once.

“Look, Jack,” the Doctor orders.

Opening eyes he doesn’t remember closing, Jack finds the display moved to where he can see it even with his head thrown back as it is; the camera is likewise moved and gives him a clear image of his own cock and its ongoing violation. He can see the one in his arse as well, which isn’t nearly as large as he finds he was expecting. The Doctor settles on the bed again, hands resuming their fondling of his incubating belly, watching. 

The movement pauses. “Penetrating further may cause discomfort,” Nurse Shua notes.

“But no damage?” the Doctor asks. Jack whines quietly.

“No damage,” the nurse agrees.

Cupping Jack’s throat with strong fingers, the Doctor squeezes gently. “You may tell us if it hurts, Captain. We won’t stop.”

A strange kind of reassurance, but reassurance nonetheless. He needs Jack’s full willing and cooperation, but he _doesn’t_ need Jack to pretend or hide any reactions. He is free to deal with the pain however he needs to.

The tentacle squirms, which looks delightfully disturbing and feels even moreso; then it pulses in preparation for movement, and when it pulses it expands, and the tolerances are so tight that even a slight expansion is a sudden burning stretch straight through the head of his cock. Jack is gasping, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, back arched with his hand clenched tight on its anchoring support, as the slippery, wriggly thing pushes deeper. 

It pulses again, and the burning stretch stabs that much further into his cock.

"Hurts," Jack whimpers, beginning to struggle. 

“You’re doing very well,” the Doctor says, pressing firm at the top of Jack’s belly. Jack gags, but his stomach is all but empty so nothing pushes up. He groans as the pressure stretches his skin, as the fullness in his arse creeps deeper and deeper, as the thing crawling up his urethra twists inside him.

It pulses again and Jack sobs at the spike of pain. “Hurts!” he insists, fighting Nurse Shua’s hold on him in earnest now. “It hurts, Doctor, it hurts, I don’t like it!”

“That’s alright, Captain, you don’t have to like it,” the Doctor soothes, petting him now with strong, calming hands. “Shh, it’s alright, you’re being so good, taking this for me just as I want you to.”

His struggles subside as the cramping ache inside him grows, forcing him to a defensive relaxation, and he watches the swelling in his cock creep toward the rest of his body through a blur of tears that renews with each increasingly painful pulse of the tentacle. The _movement_ of it is like nothing he has felt before; despite the pain he is rock hard, moaning helplessly between hiccupping sobs as he is mercilessly stretched and stuffed.

Finally, after a moment where the burning ache seems ready to slip from his cock into the rest of him, Nurse Shua says, “This is as deep as I can go.” The tentacle impaling him does _not_ fall still. It twitches, and shifts minutely, and overall feels almost entirely unlike the metal sound of the same diametre the Doctor had shoved up him. 

A cool hand settles against Jack’s cheek, a thumb brushes tears away as the Doctor leans down to kiss him tenderly. “There you are, shh, you did it, Jack, you took every bit of it beautifully.” New tears well up at the praise. “Sh-sh-sh, brave lad, it’s alright now. How lovely you are, completely relaxed in our arms here, letting us please ourselves with you.” His hand slides up to grip Jack’s hair, tilt his head back and forth; his voice is rough when he says, “Completely surrendered. Look at yourself, Jack.”

Peeling his eyelids open with some difficulty, Jack attempts to focus on the display, but it seems to be showing some sort of wildly extravagant tentacle porn he can’t make sense of at the moment. 

The Doctor laughs, an intoxicating noise of pure delight. “That’s you,” he says fondly. “It’s definitely you. He’s gone all fuzzy,” he adds, turning away from Jack a bit. “He thought I was showing him some sort of fantastical pornography.”

Put like that, it does seem a bit more likely that it is Jack himself in this situation. When has the Doctor ever shown him porn?

“What kind of porn _do_ you like?” Jack wonders, hazily distracted, but it comes out slurred and garbled.

“What? Oh -” Flushing slightly, the Doctor bends to kiss him again. “I told you, who needs it when I can just watch you?” Jack can feel flickering sparks of followup ideas he would love to pursue, but his lover slides a hand over the inflated curve of his belly and once he can clearly match sensation to movement on the display the dissociation melts away and he is grounded firmly in his body once more. He groans as Nurse Shua prods gently at his very full insides. “There, see? Look at my beautiful Captain, stuffed with eggs until he’s so round and full he can barely move, absolutely no options left but to let us take care of him however we like.” His hand slides down, and down, and Jack’s eyelids droop closed as he lets himself fall into his lover’s voice. “Let us touch him however we like. Let us tease him however we like.” The thing in his cock twists, slipping inside him without the pain of moving forward, and Jack whines in need and anticipation. “Let us use him however we like.”

Very, very gently, the Doctor closes his hand around Jack’s aching cock. 

The counter-pressure on stretched skin is somehow both intensely soothing and instantly inflaming, and the groan it rips from Jack is half relief and half sudden dire need. The pitch of it shifts upward abruptly when he tries to rock his hips forward unthinkingly and rediscovers how overstuffed he is inside.

“We could play a symphony on him, if we got him tuned properly,” the Doctor muses, sliding his hand a disappointingly short distance; just to see what different noise Jack makes, presumably. “How long would _that_ take to map out, I wonder -”

“Please,” Jack gasps, “please!”

The Doctor’s hand doesn’t move, but the tentacle _squirms_ inside his grip, inside Jack’s cock - Jack probably yells, he certainly tenses - the Doctor makes a startled noise, and then he says, “Oh, alright,” and his hand is moving too - the tentacle squirms _emphatically_ -

Jack doesn’t know any words strong enough for this situation so he just howls, overwhelmed and desperate for relief.

But relief doesn’t come.

“Why?” Jack gasps once words return, frustrated sobs still shaking him. “Why can’t I come?” His head is tucked under the Doctor’s chin; fingers card through his hair with a care distinctly at odds with the reactions his lover is wringing from him today. A kiss on his forehead, then the Doctor is pulling away. His hand slips down to settle at Jack’s throat, and when he strokes slowly something about it feels so right that Jack can’t help but lean into it. He is still stuffed full, still immobilised; the coiling tracks of tentacles drift over the immense swell of all he holds inside. He aches absolutely everywhere.

With a detached sort of sympathy, the Doctor says, “I haven’t put anything in your stomach yet. So how could you?”

Discarding responses to that very loaded question as fast as they occur, Jack seizes hold of the single piece of information he cares about _right now_ and does the only thing he can do about it.

“Please fill me more,” he begs. “Please, Doctor, let me show you how much I can hold, let me take it, please, let me come for you -”

“Shh,” the Time Lord says, laying a finger over Jack’s lips. Jack licks it cautiously, then sucks it in when it doesn’t move away. The Doctor beams down at him happily. “Everything I’ve done to you, and still begging for more. How good you are for me, Captain." Another finger pushes into Jack's mouth and the Doctor's eyes go a little sharper. "And how brave."

Jack is still working on the implications of that when the fingers press against his cheek, slip deeper, and hook around the backs of his molars, forcing his jaw open. 

"Aagh," he says cleverly, and the Doctor says, "Go ahead, Nurse Shua," and Jack says the same thing again only much louder and with a great deal of attempted flailing as the tentacles inside him pull out in a leisurely slither. Groaning, Jack curls inward as much as Nurse Shua will let him and waits for his body to adjust.

After exploring Jack's mouth with his thumb for long enough to ensure proper gratitude on Jack's part, the Doctor extracts his fingers and lets Jack close his mouth. "Still feeling brave, Captain?"

He isn't, really. It's easy to see where this is leading. Peering cautiously upward, Jack replies, "No, Doctor."

"That's very sensible of you," the Doctor agrees. His hand rubs slowly along the top curve of Jack's belly, just where it begins to bulge out from his rib cage, and Jack can feel his contents shifting slightly as it passes. "You're going to do it anyway, though, aren't you?"

It's only a question because he wants Jack to say it; he knows the answer already.

Jack swallows, and wets his lips, and replies, "Yes, Doctor."

The Doctor smiles, and it is warm and proud and very, very dark. “And what are you going to do, Jack?”

“I’m going to take it in three holes at once,” Jack says, biting back a whimper at the thought of that pulsing pain in his cock again.

“Good lad,” his Time Lord says gently, lovingly. “And what else will you do for me, Jack?”

After he is stuffed in every hole, pumped full to bursting, and thoroughly fucked - Jack wants to cry, and he wants to come, and he wants to be used, and he wants to be good. He wants everything his lovers are offering. “I’m going to enjoy it when you make me throw up again.”

Tentacles curl and pulse against his skin, between his toes, around his thighs, over his back in waves that drain away the tension; the hand on his belly drifts down, and down, until it slides carefully over his abused cock, cups him possessively. “Yes, you will,” the Doctor promises, as Jack falls back into surrender with startling ease.

The Doctor sits up, still cradling Jack’s cock in steady fingers; then he pauses, and leans back down so Jack can see him easily. “Would you like me to hold you? Or would you rather I stay where you can see me?” But Jack’s thoughts are already running too slowly to answer. He whines anxiously. “No, no, shh, forget I asked, Captain.” Jack does so with relief. “I’m going to hold you, just like this, I’m going to touch you however I like best, Captain, and none of this is under your control at all. If I want you to scream, I will make you scream; if I want you to come, I will make you come. There’s nothing you can do about any of it.”

“How remarkable,” Nurse Shua says quietly, as Jack lays heavier in its arms. He can feel his eyelids closing, his breath slowing; as the relaxation spreads to his hips he feels himself open further, a welcoming, pliable toy for his lovers’ delight. A hand slides over the hard fullness at the centre of him.

“How beautiful you are, Jack. So perfectly enjoyable. Won’t you enjoy him now, Nurse Shua?” the Doctor invites.

Jack opens his mouth and waits patiently.

A gentle pressure tilts his head back a little further; delicate touches climb his exposed throat. Then a slick tip touches down against his lips, another against his gaping rim, circle in hypnotic synchrony at both ends of him as Jack moans, breathless and eager. The hand on his cock shifts, pulls back to expose him fully to a probing touch so light as to be ticklish. A shudder shakes him and the moan rises to a whine of anticipation.

When the invasion comes it is soft and slow and entirely irresistible. 

The growing fullness in his arse is familiar now, but paired with the smooth thickness pushing into his mouth it becomes something else, another part of the force hollowing him out and taking him over utterly. The thing in his cock slips in smoothly to plug him, and squirms there; and then pulses, so Jack is moaning as the tears spring to his eyes. He chokes as the tentacle in his mouth fills his throat, is silenced briefly by it until it threads itself down his esophagus and adjusts itself to let him breathe, narrow and constricted as if through a straw. The pain doesn’t seem as bad as before; maybe he is stretched a bit, or maybe he is just more distracted. 

The fullness in his throat crawls inward just as slowly as the others, but unlike the one in his arse he can feel it sliding through his lips, over his tongue, squeezing down his throat in pulses that don’t match the frequency of his own muscles trying to hurry it along. “Mmm!” he begs, driven to confused struggles at the feeling of it refusing to reach his stomach. Another pulse of pain in his cock lends urgency if not coherence. “Mm, mmm!”

The slow penetration does not pause, but Nurse Shua asks, “Is he well?”

“Only a little overwhelmed,” the Doctor says reassuringly. “He’ll feel better once you reach his stomach. You’re doing very well, Captain,” he adds, and strokes Jack with a smooth pressure that leaves him sobbing when the next spike of pain forces its way into him through the Doctor’s grip. “What a beautiful catch he makes, all warm and wriggly.”

“He is delightful,” Nurse Shua agrees, and continues to press in with the deliberate enjoyment of someone sinking their fingers into a perfect mud pie. 

_He is delightful._

Buoyed on the unconditional praise, Jack drifts in a haze of sensation, no longer entirely certain what shape he is, what his _self_ is meant to encompass; because he seems to encompass a great deal of things which are not himself, now. Does he _have_ a shape, or is he some malleable lump of flesh, given form by the tentacles he can feel holding him everywhere - touching him, squeezing him, invading him, stuffing him more and more full. He is beginning to wonder if he has fundamentally misunderstood his own body, all the years he’s had it. Has it always had this much space inside?

Gradually his struggles lose force and focus as each stretched fibre of him relaxes in surrender to the creeping fullness. Only vaguely aware of his reactions, Jack hopes his warmth and wriggling are still satisfactory; as the Doctor promised, he has no control over any of it.

He trusts he will find out, if his lovers should require more from him.

With a final pulse of pain, a final slithery push, the tentacles in Jack's arse and cock reach their destinations deep inside him and fall still. The one down his throat breaches his stomach - but doesn’t stop. Much too far gone to consider protest or even questioning, Jack moans as all his attention abruptly shifts to its slow movement, smooth between his lips and heavy on his tongue, thick in his throat and terribly, continuously _inward_. 

The end of it moves in his stomach, prodding at his overstuffed insides, touching off strange sparks between confused nerves - it feels like it is caressing one of the eggs, he can feel the hard lump of it rocking back and forth under his ribs, _ticklish_ in some incomprehensible way. His body jerks and gasps and grunts, and all the while his belly grows more full with ever-shifting coils.

"Captain," the voice he loves says, very close to his ear. A cool tongue licks at his lips, drawing his attention yet more firmly to the pulsing, sliding flesh that fills them. "Open your eyes, Captain. Look."

Jack opens his eyes. He sees the Doctor. He lets them fall closed, content.

" _Jack_ ," the Doctor says, voice breaking. His cheek presses smooth against Jack's, his nose nuzzles into Jack's hair. When he pulls away his thumb comes to stroke Jack's throat, fingertips spread light as feathers against his skin. "Open your eyes again, Captain, and look at yourself. I want you to see."

Jack opens his eyes again, and tries to focus on the picture on the display. The perspective is odd and he has trouble matching it up with himself until the Doctor slides a hand slowly over the ripe roundness at the centre and Jack feels it, calm and soothing on stretched skin. Hardly any other part of him is easily distinguishable. Tentacles cascade over him in wild abundance, _into_ him in more instances than seems reasonable; from an outside perspective, he still seems to have a defined shape that is being violated. The idea is reassuring, in a distant sort of way. Nurse Shua seems more brown than usual, coiling around him in sensual loops that move in time with the slow pulses of the thing pushing down his throat to hypnotic effect.

"I can feel it moving inside you," the Doctor murmurs, drawing Jack's attention back to his enormous belly. "I want you to feel it too." 

Jack is nearly certain he _can_ \- there's some element of uncertainty to the whole thing, at this point - but the Doctor takes his right hand and together with the tentacle restraining him moves it to lay against taut skin, and now Jack can feel it through his fingers too, the roiling mass of tentacle he is being stuffed with. He moans.

“One more experiment, Captain. Don’t hold back.”

Jack watches his belly expand, can feel it pushing up against his hand, stretching skin and muscle; it is beginning to hurt enough to distract him from the strangeness, now. Each exhale is a pained whimper, each inhale increasingly difficult. The tentacle pulses in his throat more forcefully, then nearly violently, then falls still.

“This is as much as I can fit in him,” Nurse Shua says. It’s impossible to tell whether the matter-of-fact tone is appropriate, or whether in a human it might sound disappointed or surprised or quietly blissed. “He is such a pleasant nest. So welcoming,” it adds, churning gently inside Jack’s belly, and his estimates on tone tip toward _blissed_. The tentacle stuffed in his cock begins twisting slowly and Jack’s whimpers turn to sharp, shocked noises, needy things that make his diaphragm jump. It must feel good inside, because the tentacles around his wrists and ankles squeeze tight and Nurse Shua adds, “So many fascinating responses.”

Jack has never felt quite so _used_. Just a toy, now, just a mindless thing made to be enjoyed, shaped and trained and filled and fucked at his lovers’ pleasure. This body he can’t escape can belong to someone else now, for just a little while.

“Yes, Jack, just like that,” the Doctor murmurs. His fingertips trace Jack’s face tenderly and he kisses the corner of Jack’s open lips. “My beautiful Captain. No more worrying, no more wondering, no more thinking. Just feel. We’ll take care of you.”

So Jack feels. 

His lover's hand comes to rest under Jack's chin, cupping the exposed length of his swollen throat with soft pressure; he squeezes carefully with thumb and fingertip and Jack feels lit on fire. When his hand slides down Jack strains to lean into it, crying hoarse little noises of need between gasping breaths that don’t have enough air in them. To Jack's great relief, it rubs more firmly in response; he relaxes, and breathes a little easier. The tentacle squirming inside his cock is joined by one squirming outside it, pulsing and gripping in time with the hand on his throat, and Jack feels the ache in his arse again as he begins to tense. This time his stomach is full, stretched and stuffed with writhing alien flesh and he has no idea what will happen but he knows nothing will stop this orgasm, not this time. 

Teeth nip his ear and the Doctor orders, “Try to remember to breathe,” so Jack breathes. A very small part of his brain worries about needing an order like that, but then the thing impaling his cock begins sliding outward and nothing else matters. The Doctor’s hand strokes steadily, urging him onward, and everything is tightening, brightening, he is burning and all the fire in him is rushing _out_ -

Jack screams as the searing stretch of the tentacle slips free of his cock, as it is replaced by the startling heat of his own ejaculate, as he spasms, pain blooming through him from muscles locking down on the solid masses inside - as his stomach tightens on its contents as it's been trained to do. As he's been trained to _need_.

And when it tightens, slowly, deliberately, Nurse Shua _pulls_. 

What rises in his throat, spills from his mouth this time is nothing so easy as he has been trained to, not even the thickened gel the Doctor had made him expel earlier. Heavy and unmistakably _solid_ , the tentacle crawls out of him with a pull and a friction and a feeling of unravelling him from the centre outward - and at the centre of him is that desperate _need_. Once the orgasm has taken hold of him it doesn’t let go; when his balls are empty the pulsing fullness escaping his belly works just as well to keep him at a fever pitch. The Doctor’s hand on him never falters and it all blends together in the body his lovers have pushed to its limits, the desperate need for release, for relief, for what’s been forced into him to come back out. The taste of sweet slime and stomach acid in his mouth, the slow decrease of pressure that proceeds oddly out of sync with his own spasms. 

Occasionally he remembers the Doctor’s order, and gasps a breath. Invariably it comes back out in strained, animalistic noises not meant to be made by human throats.

Eventually his body gives in, still wringing him in haphazard spasms but no longer with the same intensity; but the emptying continues, refined down to pure pleasure now. The feel of it pushing up his throat without pain driving its journey is satisfying in ways Jack can’t understand, doesn’t want to understand. As he relaxes he breathes, and moans, and his body falls into an instinctive undulation that renews the ache low in his belly - and then that pressure begins to recede too, and the orgasm that had been fading tightens around him again as his stuffing is pulled from both ends and everything inside him is relief, blessed, overwhelming, mind-scouring relief.

When it is over, when all the extra fullness is gone and he is heavy and round with eggs and nothing else, Jack lies still. Quiet, uncontrollable tears stream from his eyes; he breathes unimpeded, and he tastes the sweetness of mindless bliss, and he thinks of nothing. Things touch him, and move him, and he accepts it. Everything is softness.

The voice he loves bids him rest, and he rests.


	18. Mindless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor gets his wish, and Jack gets his, finally.
> 
> Author's Note: In case anyone is checking this and/or wondering where I've gone, I decided to finish up writing the story before posting any more. There have been some complications in real life, but it's coming along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: heavy dom/sub, subspace, dissociation, belly inflation, a bit of belly worship, fingering, large insertion, pain. Emetophilia only in passing, in second to last section.

Something seems wrong when Jack wakes again in the quiet dimness of the room’s night cycle; only a little, only enough to register, not enough to alarm. The Doctor is tucked against his back, knees bent to follow the shape of Jack’s body as close as he can. His arm drapes over Jack’s chest, hand snugged into the space between skin and the pillow that supports Jack’s arms.

It isn’t very difficult to pull it up a little higher so his fingers reach Jack’s mouth.

Reassuringly filled again, Jack drops back into untroubled sleep.

\---

He wakes again with the Doctor’s fingers still in his mouth and a lack of ambition so profound that breathing feels like a chore. For a long time he lies there, calm and still and wondrously thoughtless, drifting in a dreamy morning lassitude that shows no sign of clearing. The sleep-slowed drumbeat of the Doctor’s pulse flutters against his skin.

In the manner of mornings, without any awareness of missing time, Jack becomes aware of his head being shaken gently; the Doctor’s fingers are still in his mouth but the rest of his hand grips Jack’s chin now, presses insistently at the top of his throat, drawing him back to awareness with irresistible strength. “Wake up, Captain,” he coaxes, leaning up over Jack’s shoulder. “Let me see those baby blues.”

Leaving his neck pliable to the Doctor’s hands, Jack blinks up at him with a sleepy smile. An answering smile conquers his lover’s face piecemeal, one side, then the other, spreads up his cheeks to his eyes, and then the fingers are gone from Jack’s mouth and the Doctor is leaning over his shoulder to kiss him as deeply as he can manage at the awkward angle. Jack moans for him, very pleased to be woken for this purpose.

Still smiling as he pulls away, the Doctor carefully nudges Jack’s neck back into a more normal bend. “Not quite, Captain. It’s time for you to drink more.”

Equally pleased to be filled as his lovers desire, Jack opens his mouth.

Brow slightly furrowed, the Doctor peers down at him silently for a long moment; Jack waits patiently. “Good lad,” the Doctor says then, with grave approval. “That’s just right, Jack, that’s very good.” His eyes are kind and he curls a little tighter around Jack and for a moment the bright bloom of joy in Jack’s chest is so big it eclipses the pressure in his bloated belly.

A blunt tentacle tip pushes into his mouth. Jack closes his lips over it and sucks willingly, settling back into relaxed stillness when he finds it is rehydrating water and not the smooth sweet stuff that would mean the Doctor had _plans._ As the first mouthful goes down, fingertips stroke his throat; the contact transforms the whole experience to something unexpectedly sensual and Jack moans again as he feels the way his own body stuffs itself more full at the Doctor’s command.

“Does it hurt?” the Doctor asks, fingertips rubbing lightly. “We were hard on you, yesterday. _Can_ you speak?”

He pulls the tentacle from Jack’s mouth. Jack swallows - without pain, if perhaps a bit stiffly - and answers, “Yes, Doctor.”

“Does it hurt? Either speaking or swallowing.”

“No, Doctor.”

“Alright,” his lover concedes, and bends to kiss him again, and replaces the tentacle. “Shh, there you are. No need to speak if you don’t want to.”

Relieved and entirely content with his situation, Jack drinks slowly and steadily, and when he begins to flag the Doctor bids him stop and rest, and pets his aching belly with a heavy hand that shifts the fullness inside in waves that set Jack gently adrift again.

\---

The water in the bath laps at Jack’s flanks, washes warm over his back when anyone stirs up ripples. He lies over the Doctor again, cradled in the grip of more limbs than he can easily count, head safely above water on his lover’s chest, belly comfortably weightless if still immense and unwieldy. His knees touch the bottom of the bath, but aren’t anchored there; he is free to move - or at least more free than he is when wallowing in bed or folded into the cradle - so eventually he works up the will to do so.

When Jack stretches his legs out the Doctor laughs and nudges him gently, setting him rocking on his swollen belly. The gel has absorbed all the water he drank, so there is nothing left to trouble his stomach but his guts are packed tight, coiled inside stretched skin and muscle and shifting slightly as he moves. The eggs nestled behind them press against Jack’s insides in ways no less bizarre for having been there for days already. He moans and twists and stretches and stretches and _stretches_. It feels so good it nearly brings him to tears.

“Alright, Jack?” the Doctor asks, hands running in long strokes over his shoulders, down his spine.

“Good,” Jack promises, shuddering uncontrollably as tentacles curl between his fingers and toes, stretching them just to the point of discomfort. “So _good…_ ” He groans as his back arches and everything inside shifts and stretches again. The Doctor follows the wave of tension, fingers digging in with a force that nothing in Jack is prepared to resist. He twitches and whimpers and eventually settles, brought back to a comfortable thoughtlessness under the gentling motion of his lover’s hands.

After a long while of this, though, the aimless, absent caresses begin to take on a meaning Jack doesn’t like. He can feel the Doctor hard against his belly, but although his hips flex gently there is no ambition in the movement; tentacles slide over his skin and hold him steady, but in none of the ways Jack has come to understand as particularly pleasurable for Nurse Shua. It doesn’t even seem to be examining how well he is incubating the eggs.

Have they grown tired of him?

Increasingly worried that his incapacitated condition has rendered him unsatisfying, Jack tries to be more actively encouraging. Nuzzling into bath-warmed skin, he licks the Doctor’s chest, tracing the contours of muscle up to the ridge of his collarbone; he leans into it the next time the Doctor’s hips flex against him, and tightens his hands around the tentacles occupying them.

The hands on his back continue their slow petting. “Shh, shh,” the Doctor says into his hair, quiet, calming, _dismissive_.

A tiny whimper escapes Jack despite his attempt to hold it in.

“Jack? What’s wrong?” The Doctor’s voice is kind, but it just makes it worse because he doesn’t know, does he? Couldn’t he help, couldn’t he do better, couldn’t he make it better? Isn’t that what he is _for_ , making his lovers feel better?

Strong fingers wind through his hair, tighten to pull his head back, and Jack submits with relief to the Doctor’s commands. He stares upward beseechingly as his lover examines him, brows drawn inward in a thoughtful furrow.

“What are you thinking, Captain?”

Jack wets his lips. “I can do more,” he offers.

The Doctor’s face slides toward consternation before he smooths it back to a gentle inquisitiveness. “And why would you need to do more?”

Although he would much rather simply be _told_ than have to guess, Jack tries obediently. “You’re tired of me?”

The fingers clench in his hair and the Doctor’s eyes go wide for a moment before they narrow. “Never,” he denies forcefully, and pulls Jack up into a kiss that is all painful angles and sharp edges and white hot brilliance. Jack leans into it with a will, mouth open and hungry, and groans as his contents move inside him again. “I could never. I only thought - well, nevermind what I thought. If you’re ready for more, Captain, don’t imagine for a moment I’ll have difficulty thinking of things to do with you. Can you kneel up?”

Jack immediately attempts to drag himself upright; the Doctor smirks as he collapses back down, groaning in pain as his back and abdominal muscles protest.

“No, I think you’ll have to work a little harder than that. Don’t help, please, Nurse Shua, I want to see if he can.”

The tentacles in his hands slide out of his grip, and although they remain coiled about his wrists Jack finds they provide no support and he can move without impediment. Bracing his hands on the floor of the bath, he shifts legs and hips carefully until he feels properly configured, then tries pushing himself up again. Again his back does not cooperate. The Doctor is moving under him, hips rocking enthusiastically against the immobilizing weight of his swollen middle, driving pulses of pressure through him that make his breaths stutter.

But he doesn’t tell Jack to stop, so he keeps trying.

Increasingly desperate to succeed, his own laboured breathing sounding like sobs in his ears, Jack spreads his knees yet wider, tries to prop his hands on them but the Doctor’s legs are in the way - he needs something higher than the floor to push from -! Tentatively Jack sets a hand on the Doctor’s hip and instead of any protest the Time Lord moans loudly and thrusts harder against him, which Jack can’t take as anything but encouragement. He moves his other hand as well, pinning his lover to the floor. The feel of him writhing there, the sight of his head tipped back, eyes closed, the sound of his needy moans, is balm to Jack’s heart; not tired of him at all, then, and very clearly the opposite of dismayed at Jack’s compromised condition.

Jack pushes himself upward, and tilts back, and with the help of one last hard thrust of the Doctor’s hips under his hands he is up.

The Doctor’s eyes pop open, dark and unfocused. “Good,” he pants, “well done, very good…” He regards Jack somewhat hazily for a moment, then reaches out to slide a hand over the hard swell of his belly, now on display front and centre, rising from the water like some fantastical island. The other hand joins it and he sits forward, gaze wandering over Jack’s body with curious intensity. “Did you -”

A hand slips down, and down, and Jack whimpers as the light touch continues between his legs until the Doctor’s forearm is snug over his cock and his fingers are teasing at Jack’s unprotected rim. He tenses and squirms but finds his arms are once again restrained with a yielding strength that leaves him feeling like he is pushing through molasses, and he is left with no ability to resist the reactions being plucked from him. Tentacles curl up the insides of his thighs and Jack pants, open mouthed, waiting.

“It’s still inside you,” the Doctor murmurs, leaning forward to mouth at Jack’s left nipple. His fingers are still fluttering inside Jack’s gaping hole, pressing light at the plug but not trying to coax him looser to let it out; just reminding him how completely his body has been opened up and occupied. “Even knelt up like that. I suppose you’ve had enough time to tighten up. Well.” He bites down and Jack cries out, caught by surprise. “That will make this interesting.”

An anxious frisson shivers down Jack’s spine. The plug is pushing hard at his sphincter, all the weight of his stuffing trying to force it out, but his body has apparently had long enough to tighten undisturbed that it suspects significant pain if it relaxes. Jack suspects his body is entirely correct about that. He tries to relax anyway, with no success. The Doctor smiles at him, dark and dangerous.

“Nurse Shua, would you turn him around, please? I’d like him set over me, just like this, facing away.”

“Certainly, Doctor,” the nurse replies, and Jack bites back a whimper as tentacles cinch tight around him.

He is set down again facing the Doctor’s feet, belly resting on thighs, knees spread wide across the Doctor’s lap; the water in the bath comes to the middle of his enormous swell, still high enough to provide a comfortable amount of buoyancy. Nurse Shua lounges in the bath to his left, more visible from this angle. A hand on his back tips him forward; the tentacles wrapped around his arms and chest keep him steady and don’t let him resist the movement that sloshes through him queasily, which is good. He doesn’t want to resist.

Jack has a pretty good idea of what’s coming, but the fingers rubbing his gaping hole still make him twitch. “Ready, Captain?” the Doctor asks.

Not sure how to answer, Jack whimpers again. His pulse hammers in his ears and he is afraid of the coming pain, but he doesn’t want that to be a consideration here. He wants to be used to his limits, used in every way the Doctor desires. A finger slides between his rim and the plug, but he is no longer loose enough that it can reach inside. “Yes, Doctor,” he says, because the other answer is riskier.

“Good lad,” the Doctor says, as he sets hands to Jack’s hips and tilts him slowly back.

Even after fingers doing the same thing, the feeling as the head of the Doctor’s cock slips inside his tightly clenched hole without the slightest hint of resistance is so strange it sends Jack’s legs into a great panicked kick to try to launch him away from the violation. Without Nurse Shua’s tentacles he would have ended up face-down in the bath; as it is he wrenches his belly badly and then has no recourse but anxious whining as the nurse carefully sets him back in position to do it again.

“What a reaction,” the Doctor murmurs, palms rubbing firm over Jack’s hips. His cock slots back inside to plug Jack’s helplessly open hole and Jack moans loudly; his legs spasm but he goes nowhere this time. The Doctor pulls back slowly, pushes forward again, dragging across increasingly sensitive skin until the friction is no longer startling but a pleasure so focused and intense Jack feels entirely lost in it. “You do feel delightful. Is that good?”

Jack makes an inarticulate, overwhelmed noise, but not particularly _in response_.

His lover laughs, and then the hands tighten on his hips and tilt him back again. At first it only feels like pushing on the plug, a steadily increasing press against Jack’s very, very full insides, not so much different from hands on his belly if aimed slightly differently - but as the Doctor pulls him down harder the plug begins to give way and lets his cock slide inside. Jack grunts as the solid mass lodged in his rectum begins to expand, growing and growing into a painful knot. It forces his rim open wider, too wide to feel his lover’s cock slide through, and the loss of sensation is painful as well.

“You’re doing very well, Captain,” the Doctor praises him between his own quiet groans, which doesn’t help at all because it means he isn’t even close to done.

“Hurts,” Jack protests, which doesn’t adequately describe the way he is being made bigger on the inside _at all._

“You can take it,” the Doctor assures him, pulling him inexorably down. “I want you to take it, Jack.”

“Yes, Doctor,” he whispers, as the awful stretch creeps deeper and deeper. As much as he knows he can and has taken it, and recently, right now it feels like being torn apart. Head tilted back, body gone limp in surrender, Jack is breathing in shallow gasps punctuated by little grunts of pain by the time he feels the Doctor’s skin against his arse. When he is fully seated the Doctor sighs and gives a little wriggle which is at once thrilling and such a strange feeling it makes Jack tense momentarily.

Hands pet his ballooned sides as he groans. “I’m very proud of you, Captain,” the Doctor says; the breathy need in his voice goes a long way toward redeeming the experience. “So difficult, but you took it so well for me.” At least Jack has the consolation of sensation against the burning skin of his rim now, even if it isn’t the friction of a cock; at least he is settled and it isn’t getting _worse_. “Tell me how it feels, Jack,” the Doctor moans, hands sliding down Jack’s thighs.

“Full,” Jack says. He grunts as the Doctor twitches. “So full, so full I can’t… I can’t move, Doctor, if I move I… _unh_ -”

“Don’t move, then, Captain,” the Doctor says, as he spreads his legs to force Jack’s knees further apart. The way he is balanced along with the buoyancy from the water means this results in him sitting yet more firmly on the Doctor’s cock, impaled and trapped. “I want you to stay right there, and just hold me. I want you to be full of _me_.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jack breathes, trying to remain entirely limp in the grasp of the tentacles holding him up, the Doctor’s hands holding him down. Very carefully, Nurse Shua snugs up the tentacles pinning his arms, coils another one up behind his head, and bends him back just slightly more, easing his upper body into a position as stressless as possible in the circumstances. “Thank you,” Jack murmurs, letting his eyes fall closed.

“You are welcome, Jack,” Nurse Shua replies. A firm tentacle tip nudges against the corner of his mouth, just where he has come to expect it, and Jack smiles.

Hands spread gentle on his back; thumbs circle over the base of his spine. “You feel so wonderful, Jack, so tight around me,” the Doctor murmurs. “Let me be what fills you up, today. Let me be what stretches you to your limit.” His caressing hands entice Jack into a depth of comfort and contentment entirely at odds with the throbbing pain in his arse, the neverending ache in his belly, and gradually Jack comes to feel himself separate from his lower half, calm and drifting.

The first thrust of the Doctor’s hips catches Jack by surprise; dimly he expects his lover to apologise. He doesn’t.

Instead he does it again, raising Jack in a smooth push below his spine that leaves his belly and all its liquid-filled contents to catch up in a slow wave. Reflexively Jack tenses to try to mute the motion, then forces himself to relax as pain tears through his abdomen; then has to resist tensing again as the sloshing wave hits its zenith and comes back down. He can’t say anything, can barely breathe.

The Doctor waits for them to settle back to the bottom of the bath together, not pulling out at all; then he does it again.

“ _Please_ ,” Jack begs on the recoil, as his belly pushes the air from his lungs. It doesn’t hurt, exactly, as long as he doesn’t tense - but then he has no control over the situation at all.

“No,” the Doctor says. His hands curl over Jack’s spread thighs and inward, fingertips trailing over sensitive skin. “Hush, Captain. Do you feel helpless?” Jack whimpers as he is propelled away from the shifting mass inside him once again. “Shh. You want to be full. I want you to feel it. That’s all you have to do. Just feel it.”

Jack feels it as the Doctor slowly develops a frequency that leaves his distended belly in a constant sway, an obscene bouncing ball embedded under his skin, its motion moderated by the water of the bath into a sloshing current that takes over Jack’s every breath, every beat of his heart. His legs are spread too wide to provide any support so it moves to the full extent allowed by skin and muscle; it is so large that even arched back with arms and tentacles wrapped over his chest he can see the edge of it if he looks down.

He wonders what the Doctor is getting out of it, and wishes he would just fuck him properly.

The Doctor laughs and stretches around to fondle Jack’s limp cock briefly. “No, Jack. It’s all or nothing. For now, every bit of what’s in your arse is me, and that’s what I’m going to fuck you with, once I get you loosened up. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that plug still hasn’t come back out.”

On every downstroke the plug knocks against Jack’s sphincter with considerable force - but after the day to tighten up and with the Doctor’s cock inside it, it is simply too big. His body _can’t_ let it come through. “Too big,” Jack protests, voice just a wrecked little whimper now.

“Certainly not. How do you expect those eggs to come out if you can’t manage this?”

Jack moans fearfully. He hadn’t been thinking about the eggs at all, in truth; he can no longer feel them bumping about individually inside, the gelatinous fill having thickened enough to cushion them firmly.

“Exactly. So I think you had better work harder at relaxing, Captain.”

But he can’t. The Doctor’s rhythm has never faltered, and now it increases slightly - in order to force the plug through his protesting sphincter, Jack realises with a shiver of dread. Although the rest of his body is adamantly relaxed, he can’t convince his hole to do anything but clench defensively against the pounding from the inside.

“Take all the time you need,” the Doctor says, generous, ominous. “I’m in no hurry.”

Jack tries, but gradually the movement inside him comes to dominate every spark of thought. Nothing about his situation gives him the slightest fingerhold against the feeling of depersonalisation creeping through him; too full to move, too heavy to escape, filled with something too big to come out, he is nothing more than a selection of warm holes with a convenient container between. Even his breathing is not his own; the slow bounce of his belly stretches and compresses his chest to the Doctor’s tempo. Jack finds himself hazily grateful that someone is taking care of that for him. He wishes his body would relent and do as the Doctor asks. How can he want so much and yet have this one hold-out? The Doctor is patient and forgiving but still Jack feels vaguely embarrassed that his body refuses to fully surrender. The wash of waves goes on and on, knocking his intestines against his ribs, piling them up against his pelvis, stretching his already impossibly stretched abdominal wall just a little more every time, breathing for him; and Jack waits.

After some timeless tide has been and gone, a beloved voice calls, “Jack.” Jack manages a low moan in response. “Oh, _Jack_.” Gentle hands leave tingling trails over his skin. “How beautiful you are.” The hands slide up to feel the tight rolling swell of what he holds inside. “Do you need help letting the plug out?”

Relieved at the offer, Jack makes another little noise on his next exhale.

“Alright, Captain, shh, I’ll help you. Just relax.” Gradually his belly comes to rest; without the constant pitch and sway Jack feels dizzy, like the world has gone unsteady. “Shh, just for a moment. Nurse Shua, will you lift him a bit?” As the tentacles around his chest haul him up the fullness in his arse retreats a bit but the mass in his belly hangs heavier. It feels as though the whole of it may simply fall out, all his own viscera included, if he succumbs to the insistent push against his sphincter; but he doesn’t think the Doctor would ask that of him.

Fingers slide between his arse and the Doctor’s lap, probing at his tense rim gently, slipping in to where the Doctor’s cock turns the plug into an impassible knot. There is a muffled groan and a quickly halted thrust of the Doctor’s hips and he gasps, “Sorry,” but Jack is glad for the evidence of his enjoyment. The fingers massage slowly, tug his hole open little by little. “It’s alright, Jack,” the Doctor assures him, tilting him forward a little more to lessen the force with which the plug will punch through. “I’ll take care of you. Let go.”

Jack whimpers as he feels himself open, the muscles finally giving way, his body finally surrendering fully to the Doctor’s orders. The fingers keep rubbing, around and around, pressing and stretching and widening until the weight behind the plug forces it through with an explosive burst of tearing pain. Jack cries out weakly, slumping into the encircling tentacles as tears drip down his face; the Doctor grunts and twitches and holds very deliberately still, toes curled tightly. “So good,” he gasps, after a moment, “you’re so good for me, Captain, so brave -”

Hanging there, every muscle relaxed, Jack cries silently, full to bursting with the loving pride in the Doctor’s voice and the satisfaction and pain of success.

Another long moment passes whilst the Doctor’s hands come to rest on Jack’s hips, fingertips digging in sporadically in time with the little moans and shudders as he tries to keep control of himself - or possibly he is holding remarkably still as he loses it. Finally he swallows thickly and says, “Nurse Shua, please lower him back down. Slowly.”

“Yes, Doctor,” the nurse says, and Jack is relieved to feel his belly regain slightly more buoyancy even as his arse is filled to its limits again. The Doctor gasps shallowly as Jack settles down onto him; Jack nearly whites out at the jolt that reverberates through him when the base of the plug stops hard against the Doctor’s pelvic bone. His hole is still a dull agony and he isn’t sure he can bear being fucked just yet - but he isn’t sure he can bear to stop hearing the noises his body is wringing from his lover’s throat, either.

“Jack,” the Doctor moans, thumb pushing between them to feel the plug making such a tight channel for his cock. “Are you alright?” Still crying silently in emotional overload, Jack’s attempt at response comes out as a sob. In a very different voice the Doctor repeats, “Jack?”

“He is crying, Doctor,” Nurse Shua offers. The tentacle at his mouth moves to stroke his face gently, wipe away the tears, but more keep falling.

Everything in his arse shifts, which hurts enough to make him gasp, but then the Doctor’s arms are wrapping around him, his belly firm against Jack’s lower back, his breath comforting in Jack’s ear. “Was it too much, Captain?”

Jack manages a garbled “Nuh” through slack lips, completely relaxed in his lover’s arms.

“Do you want to stop?”

Alarmed, Jack tenses involuntarily, groans when his arse protests. “ _Nuh_ ,” he insists.

“Do you need time to adjust?” Jack makes a noncommittal noise. “Slow and gentle?” the Doctor suggests, and Jack moans encouragingly. Hands caress his immensely inflated belly carefully. “My Jack. My brave Captain. If I could give you that peace forever, you know, I would,” the Doctor murmurs, nuzzling into his shoulder; the comfort of it is finally enough to stop the tears. “I wish I could. But certainly I won’t deny it to you now. Very slow, then, Captain.”

Jack misses him when he goes, laying back into the water, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t tense, doesn’t protest. Very, very gently, the Doctor’s hips push him up, stay with him as he falls; does it again, and again, and shortly it is enough to drive away the lingering feeling of sea legs on land. His hands massage Jack’s aching hips and soon that discomfort is gone as well, leaving only the subsiding pain of his arse, satisfyingly filled by the Doctor’s cock. For a long time the Doctor keeps their movement short enough that the plug barely moves, giving Jack a chance to adjust, to stretch, to heal; to get lost in the rhythm and motion again.

“Ready, Jack?” the Doctor asks, and Jack wishes vaguely he could see the expression that goes along with that wrung out voice, but he is too far gone to manage more than a low moan, much too far gone to think of moving.

The waves carrying him grow slowly stronger; although he was, perhaps, expecting it, it is still a shock when the plug slides back inside him abruptly as his motion turns downward again. Jack grunts, sphincter thrown into fluttering confusion; the Doctor -

“ _Fuck!_ ” he gasps, which is unusual enough to focus Jack’s hazy attention in fascination. “Jack, oh, Captain, I don’t -”

The plug slams back through Jack’s abused hole but all possible complaints flee his mind as the Doctor _howls_ and pushes back up into him with thoughtless force. The fullness in Jack’s arse pulses as the Doctor thrusts quick and shallow, apparently unable to stop himself until the plug pops back inside as Jack’s belly continues its upward trajectory and Jack does not. The Doctor whimpers, fingers clutching tight at Jack’s thighs. Down again, and then Jack’s belly comes down and the plug batters him open again and the Doctor sobs, and pushes them back up.

“Tight,” he says, “Jack, _Jack_ -”

Eyes closed, cradled by strong tentacles and his lover’s hips and hands, Jack surrenders to the fullness inside him and the joy of being used so. The Doctor’s whimpers and moans continue as he forces himself to build up to the steady rhythm that will keep Jack awash in constant motion; his hands, uncontrolled, roam over Jack’s skin but can’t distract from the shifting immensity inside. Jack’s belly bounces ponderously, coercing his breathing into the Doctor’s rhythm once again. Every push of the plug through his loosening sphincter is easier than the last, until it is a smooth slide in and out and he feels as though he is being fucked by some enormous cock, something that reaches through every part of him like nothing before, the Doctor finally able to fill him to his limits as he has been wishing. The fullness in his arse shifts with every moment, pulsing in counterpoint to the rest. Jack opens his mouth and the friendly tentacle slips in, smooth and firm and heavy on his tongue, and Jack feels himself rolled under and sinking, losing his last tenuous grip on _will_ and _control_ and _self_ as he is washed away into a sea of mindless satisfaction.

\---

He is aware sometimes, and not aware at others, and the difference is not always clear, especially later. When he drifts too close to conscious thought the Doctor’s familiar strength is always there, moving against him or in him, or giving orders in that loving, demanding voice, or opening his mouth for a tentacle that sometimes makes him swallow and swallow and swallow and sometimes fills his throat and stuffs him so full he just cries until he loses his hold on consciousness again.

Sometimes it’s the sweet stuff, and the Doctor murmurs loving words in his ear and strokes his throat as each mouthful slips down to the growing weight of arousal inside him until he can barely hold it in, and his orgasm is all pressure and fullness and the pain and pleasure of the convulsions that empty him in a wild rush that tastes of sweet slime and stomach acid.

Sometimes it’s the sweet stuff, and the Doctor makes him hold it in, balanced precariously there with his belly full of churning arousal as his lovers have their way with him. His orgasms those times are disastrous, wringing things, and he is not aware for a long time after.

Sometimes it’s water, and the Doctor makes him come with the tentacle still down his throat and his spasms are confused, desperate things that go on and on, the fullness driving him forward until exhaustion brings an end to it and Jack drifts, still full to bursting, mindless and utterly beyond help.

Sometimes it’s water, and the Doctor lets him swallow slow and easy as he moves inside Jack, lets it build until the slightest additional pressure sends it flowing back out as gentle relief settles into Jack like fog rolling over the sea.

Sometimes, instead, it’s Nurse Shua holding him close and tight and safely captive, and Jack writhes and whimpers and isn’t always allowed to come at all.

\---

He wakes alone, once; without the reassuring strength of the Doctor pressed against his back, without the quick tattoo of his heartbeats fluttering against Jack’s forehead, without the comforting restriction of Nurse Shua’s tentacles, without the feel of them curling gently over his skin, like silk feeling sometimes cool, sometimes warm. It registers before conscious thought and Jack lies in frightened stillness, tears slipping slowly over his nose, down his cheek. He hears movement in the room and his breath hitches, betraying him.

“Jack?” the Doctor’s voice says, and Jack gasps in relief as quick footsteps cross the room. “What’s wrong, did you -” Fingers brush Jack’s forehead, press flat to smooth away the fear. “No, no, I’m here, Jack, I’m here. I’m sorry. Shh, I’m here.”

He climbs into the bed and tucks Jack’s head beneath his chin and holds tight, and all is well with the world.

After that, someone is always touching him, and Jack doesn’t wake alone again.

“You’re not ready to come back yet, are you, Jack,” his love whispers to him, some other time. “Nurse Shua says we can wait a little longer. Just rest, just feel, Jack, we’ll take care of you.” Jack trusts him, and thinks no more of it; or of anything.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cthulhucifer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26496496) by [GlitterSkullFairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterSkullFairy/pseuds/GlitterSkullFairy)
  * [Never Enough](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28430787) by [Schattengestalt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattengestalt/pseuds/Schattengestalt)




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